Dead Man Walking
by Idrelle Miocovani
Summary: When the leader of a group of Alliance spies is found murdered, her death starts a cycle of consequences that has two Rebel agents racing against time through the depths of Coruscant in a desperate attempt to deliver important intel to the Rebel Alliance.
1. Murdered, She Was

**A/N: **This is an entry for a writing challenge at the JC. Basically, we were given a proverb to inspire us to write something. Anyways, this is perhaps the darkest and grittiest fic I've eve written. Because of that, I'm a little nervous about posting since it is something that is way outside my comfort zone as a writer. I think I may be taking my first steps towards "darker and edgier", lol.

What was supposed to be a one-shot kind of blew up in my face and the plot bunnies ran wild, so this quickly became a short story. I will be posting once every two days until it's complete. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**DEAD MAN WALKING  
**

"_Dead men tell no tales."_

_English proverb, mid-17__th__ century._

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* * *

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_**70 hours, 3 minutes.**_

To put it in poetic words, Coruscant was the city that never slept, the ceaseless megametropolis that refused to stop working. Even when one side rotated away from the system's sun, that Coruscanti half-face never plunged into complete darkness and total silence. Like a well-oiled droid, the planet never shut down, no matter what fuel fed its gears. Politics, crime, art – it was all the same, just pieces of the puzzle fitting together to create an image that never left the galaxy's eye.

He should be quite proud of himself, Rerem Anaro thought, coming up with a description like that. He was not one for the poetics. As it did him little good in his line of work, he felt flowery language was both pretty and pretty useless. It was rather like the girls he took a fancy to at the bar when he was looking for a way to lighten his spirits.

Coruscant never stopped, and so neither did he. Rerem was constantly moving – and running, on more than several occasions. He rested in small periods of half-hours throughout the day and night. It was his custom, adopted several years ago on Corellia when he found sleepless cities to be bad for the health of sleeping folks. It was too easy to have your throat slit when you were unconscious, drifting around in the no-where-land of dreams. Eight hours was a mighty long stretch of time to expose your throat.

Rerem held on to this belief and intentionally imposed it on others of the team. He frequently dropped in on colleagues in the middle of the night to conduct business, even if they were attempting to replenish their sapped energy overnight. There were never many complaints about this; the ever-changing meeting times helped them to avoid getting caught.

Because of this, Rerem wasn't troubled when it took his colleagues time to answer their hotel doors. But when Seline simply refused to answer the buzzer, Rerem didn't bother to keep on waiting and let himself in.

Seline was currently staying in a high-class hotel in one of the fancier sectors of Coruscant. She was Coruscanti by birth and felt entitled whenever she returned to her homeworld. Where she got the money to fork out her expenses, Rerem didn't know, but he personally felt that it was all too troublesome. These high-end swanks made him nervous. The sleekness of the draperies and the spotlessness of the sitting room was all too foreign.

Seline Orion was their mission leader. Rerem had known her for a very long time, working several cases with her before this Coruscant mission. When he was a mercenary, Rerem had even worked a few jobs against her, and he knew from experience that she was not someone you wanted on your bad side. She could walk in the front door and steal your identity before you could turn around once. Despite her skills, Seline was a bit of bohemian in the world of espionage, doing things that no sensible spy would ever consider. She was always playing games, balancing codes and puzzles in one hand and toying with people's minds with the other. Her bizarre plans always seemed to work out well for her, so Rerem could only criticize her tendencies to a certain degree. After all, she was considered a 23er and she was the one who had introduced Nyixa Lin to their team – the Falleen spy was one of their most important assets.

"Seline?" Rerem called, stepping through the sitting room. The lights were on, making the white and gold colour scheme of the room brighter. He picked up an ivory satin cushion from one of the sofas and tossed it away with disgust. This glamour was hardly worth the troubles it took to get. "Seline, are you here?"

There was no answer. She must have gone and left her lights on so as to appear that she was still in her rooms.

_Damn woman's wasting my time, _Rerem thought. _If whatever she found was really that important, she should've come see me. Whatever game she's playing, I wish she'd leave me out of it. _Cursing under his breath about Seline's tendencies, he decided that he would investigate the kitchen unit while he was here. Ritzy places like this always seemed to have a bottle or two of high-quality wine tucked away.

He had just begun searching the cooler when he noticed a breeze rustling the drapes in the sitting room. He shut the door and wandered back out, taking a bottle of unlabelled wine with him. The windows hadn't been opened, so why where the drapes moving?

Rerem saw the open bedroom door out of the corner of his eye and moved towards it. Had Seline exited her own hotel room via her windows? It wasn't a long shot; he had made more than enough of his own hasty exits by climbing out the window—

Red droplets blazed a stain on the white carpet in the bedroom's entrance.

Rerem set the bottle down on the floor and pulled out his blaster. "Seline?"

He cautiously walked along the narrow strip that widened into the rest of the bedroom. On the left was a door leading into the fresher. Rerem checked it; it was clear. The lights were on here too, nearly blinding him with the brightness of all the white tiling. The curtains were drawn back and the tub was wet, water droplets still clinging to its sides. Someone had recently had a shower.

Rerem backed out of the fresher and slowly stepped into the rest of the bedroom, the coppery smell of blood filling his nose. The red droplets had become a long trail, seeping around to the far side of the bed. Boot prints were trampled all about the room, imprinted on the soft carpet. Blood was splattered everywhere: on the floor, on the bed, on the walls. The whiteness of the ivory room only intensified the colour, making it bright scarlet and fresh. The flimsy white curtains billowed at the far side of the room, revealing smashed windows. Glass lay in shattered pieces beneath them, covering everything in sight with small shards. There were scorch marks on the walls and ceiling and the delicate chairs in the corner had been toppled and smashed to pieces. A blaster lay in the middle of the bloodstained bed.

Rerem crossed to the other side of the room and there she was, sprawled on the floor.

"Seline!"

He knelt at her side, checking for life signs, but he already knew it was useless. Seline lay in a pool of her own blood, her eyes wide and staring, her wiry black hair dyed dark crimson. A fine layer of glass shards covered her body, poking out of her skin where she wasn't covered by clothes. Sharp cuts lacerated her arms and her throat was slashed. A bloody vibroblade lay at her side, its silver edge stained dark.

Rerem picked up the blade and, with a pang, he recognized it as one of Seline's favourites.

"Kriff, Seline," Rerem said, setting it back down again. "Who did this to you?"

Her cold eyes stared past him. Rerem straightened, wiping her blood off his hands as best as he could, and looked around the room. "Yeah," he grunted. "The kriffing sithspawns have finally found us. Got it, got it… but what about this stuff you wanted to show me?"

Rerem moved away from the body and began examining the room for the most likely places Seline would hide any intel she had retrieved. Hidden compartments in the drawers, small spaces in the closet, behind the control panel – he went over them all. He worked in silence, forcing his mind to go blank, to forget the dead woman lying just a few feet away. Despite all his mental strength, Rerem was constantly throwing looks over his shoulder. He had a cold, creeping feeling, like someone was staring at him, watching.

Seline's dead eyes were watching him. The uncomfortable feeling grew in the pit of his stomach until he could bear it no longer. Rerem threw aside the pile of clothes he was rummaging through, crossed to his colleague's body and knelt beside her.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Sorry, Seline. It happens to all of us, some day or another. I just hope it was quick." He gently closed her eyes and sat still by her.

Judging that the violence had remained in this room, there was every indication that the fight had been short. It was clear enough to Rerem – Seline had finally let her guard slip. It was out of character, but it happened at least once to every spy. Those who survived learned their lesson; those who didn't were not given a second chance.

Seline had escaped so many times, this was like life knocking at her door telling her that her time was up. She must have fallen asleep and was at the mercy of the deadly eight hours Rerem was so keen to avoid. Imperial agents would find it very easy to break through the windows and sneak up on her while she was in the privacy of her bedroom.

"She's through here, constable—"

Rerem's head jerked up. _Kriff!_ Imperials! Those frakking sons of sithspawn had turned Seline's death into a trap and called the judicials, no doubt reporting it to the homicide investigators in the hopes that if one of the spies turned up, they could be framed for the murder.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

Rerem wasn't even close to finding where Seline had stashed the intel she wanted to give him. But he couldn't stay. He leapt to his feet and hurled himself to the edge of the windows just as the feet of several officers thundered into the room.

They shouted and yelled, blasters clicking, swiped from their holsters. Rerem didn't bother to turn and take note; he was at point-blank range right now and they would rather shoot on sight and ask questions later. After all, he looked like a red-handed murderer to them, covered in Seline's blood as he was, and his prints were now all over the place.

Rerem dove out of the broken window. Blaster fire rang over his head as he fell through the air. He winced, his breath knocked out of him as he landed on the balcony of the apartment below with a heavy thud. Something hard dug into his back.

_Sithspit._ He needed to watch where he stashed certain weapons of his; this wasn't the first time he had fallen and that concealed case had caused him pain.

"He's down there! Move it, move it!"

The officers voices faded in Rerem's ears, replaced wish a harsh ringing. He struggled to his feet, feeling a sharp sting in his right arm. One of the blaster bolts had managed to graze him. Clasping a hand to the wound, he wrenched open the balcony door – much to the surprise of the apartment's occupants – and bolted through their rooms. It would take the officers a moment to get the elevator to take them down one floor. He had just enough time to find a maintenance corridor and get the hell out of here, if he didn't make too much of a mess on the floor.

Rerem swore under his breath. His boot soles were covered with blood; they'd point the police officers in whichever direction he chose to run. Rerem kicked them off and charged, sock-footed, down the mercifully empty hotel hall.

* * *

_**49 hours, 59 minutes.**_

When a tall, lean man walked into Freide Holl's club _Alys_ almost twenty hours later, no one would have connected him to the man whose description was currently circulating through the HoloNet. Rerem's escape from the hotel had been time consuming and exhausting, but his pursuers never got close enough to get a good look at him. When he finally thought he was no longer being tailed, he crashed at a low-price lodge deep in the core and cleaned himself up, snatching a good half-hour's worth of rest. One clothing change and a thrifty boot heist later, Rerem was back out in Coruscant's traffic ways as if he had never been to Seline's apartment, heading towards his next target: a rendezvous with his non-deceased colleagues.

_Alys_ was one of the team's preferred haunts for many reasons, but the most prevalent was because of Rerem's connections. He and Freide had met several years back and though their relationship was one-off from time to time, she never backed down from giving Rerem or any of his colleagues a helping hand – for a price. Whatever your affiliation, be it Rebel or crime lord, Freide was already ready to divulge assistance if there was a good amount of money and some other benefits. As such, her club was host to many kinds of clientele from both Coruscant's underworld and the higher levels. When you got straight down to it, everyone that came here was nasty in their own way, they just differed in the subtleness of their business, and chances were Freide knew something about it.

The good thing about places like _Alys_ was that you could talk about anything and no one really paid attention as long as you put on the right look: rich, sexy, powerful, confidant. If you looked like you were a part of a smuggling ring, everyone assumed that you were taking care of smuggling ring business. Since everyone in the club had some connection to smuggling rings, no questions were asked. Crime was interconnected and no one wanted to bring the Imperials down on their heads. Though he could rock the required look, Rerem that did not mean that Rerem was going to put his guard down for one second. Despite the general safety from the Empire the illicitness of _Alys'_ clientele-inspired atmosphere, places like these had a habit of putting his teeth on edge. By nature, criminals could not be trusted to have static attitudes: though they hated the Empire, you never knew when one of them thought that alerting the Imperials to this nest of crime would be a great idea.

Rerem strode through the club, looking for any signs of his colleagues. A morbid part of his mind wondered whether any of them had also met their Imperial-assisted doom while he had been busy saving his own hide.

Tonight, the lights were low and blue-toned, the music blaring out of an invisible sound system. It was difficult to see anyone in the light and haze of smoke unless they were only a few feet away from you. High above the throngs was a brightly lit chrono placed in the ceiling. Unlike the rest of the lights, it remained white, but it occasionally shifted colour when time struck the quarter hour. The place was bustling with activity – dancers swarmed on the floor and every seat was filled. Body heat made the place muggy, inducing an entrapped ambience. There was a constant hum of conversation which sometimes escalated into loud brawls and shouting matches that competed with the volume of the music. Despite the throng of dancers and swarm of clients minding their own business, there were screens along every wall that broadcasted news from the HoloNet. No one paid attention, but it wouldn't feel right without them there.

Rerem forced his way through the crowds, wincing when someone jabbed his wound with their elbow, and managed to break free by the bar. Freide was serving tonight, a rarity in these days. She caught Rerem's eye as he sat down and gave him a twisted smile.

"What can I get you, sir?" she asked.

"Something guaranteed to give my brain a rest for a couple of hours."

Freide leaned over the bar, her fingers toying with the neckline of her flimsy shirt. "Anything else?"

"Not now," Rerem said shortly.

Freide arched an eyebrow and straightened. "Nice boots you got," she said as she drew him a drink. "Looks like they got quite the story."

Rerem guffawed. "Maybe I can tell you about it later."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Freide said, dropping a heavy tankard of beer down in front of him. "That'll be eight credits."

Rerem chipped her the money. "Not on the house?"

Freide expertly caught the credits mid-air singlehanded. "You gotta earn that one," she said briskly, turning to help her next customer. "What can I get you?"

"Bothan brandy, or whatever passes for it here," a deep voice said. "'Lo, Rerem."

Rerem raised his head and recognized his partner in the dim light. "'Lo, Nash."

Nash Trey'lun lumbered over and sat beside him. "Nice boots," the heavy-set Bothan grunted as Freide plunked his drink down in front of him and demanded her money.

Rerem rolled his eyes. "Why is everyone so obsessed with these boots?"

He heard Freide snigger behind the bar.

"They're red and pointy, Rerem," Nash said, "and look like you pulled them out of some Outer-Rim garbage compactor from a couple centuries back."

Rerem tipped back his head and took a swig of his drink. "It's footwear. That's all. You never know, maybe I'll grow into it."

"You'd have to be running backwards before you adopted those as part of your style."

"Yeah, but the black and the red do go well together."

Nash chortled and took a long drink.

Rerem and Nash stayed at the bar, calmly observing the antics of their fellow club-goers. They could see almost every inch of the dance floor from here, plus most of the exits were in view. Rerem's eyes scanned the vicinity, searching out his two last colleagues who he sensed were somewhere here.

After a moment or two, he spotted Nyixa in the light of the chrono. Her black-rooted red hair flamed under the intense light. Rerem couldn't tell if she had seen them; she was engaged in a bit of ruthless dancing, no doubt insistent on being as wild as she could be. It was rare to see a Falleen act as though they'd lost control, and Nyixa was attracting a lot of attention.

"Of course she would," Rerem muttered under his breath. "Damn pheromones."

Falleen were largely considered to be one of the most beautiful species in the galaxy. Nyixa caught the eyes of a lot of people of any species and any gender, but she completely ignored the advances anyone made on her. Most of the time, these affections were the result of what their partner Koss had termed "pheromoning": seduction was all part of Nyixa's gig. If she played the right cards, she could coax information out of an unsuspecting target faster than she could slice into Imperial computers. But this was all an act. The real Nyixa was as cold as ice, which suited Rerem fine. The last thing he needed was encouragement to feel attracted to her. He strongly disapproved of romantic entanglements between colleagues; it destroyed the working dynamic faster than any outside permanent relationship ever could. Though Nyixa frequently caught Rerem's eye (and the eyes of their teammates, no doubt), he blamed it entirely on the pheromones she could exude at will.

That wouldn't stop him from _looking._ Looking was a perfectly acceptable thing – most of the time.

"Oi, Rem," Nash said. "Eyes where they belong."

"I'll put my eyes where I want to."

"You know Nyixa doesn't care for us looking at her like that, especially you," Nash warned, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of his brandy.

"Eh, that's her problem." Rerem shrugged. "She should be used to it, she seduces people on a daily basis. I swear she knows exactly what anyone is thinking whenever they look at her."

"Still, I'm not vouching for you when she catches you and goes to pluck your eyes out."

"Then tell her to tone down on them pheromones."

Nash shook his shaggy head. "Uh uh. I am not interfering with Falleen biology."

"Are you just gonna lecture me, Nash, or do you actually have something useful to say?"

"Depends on what you call 'useful.'"

"So much for the famed Bothan efficiency."

"And human sarcasm just took a nose-dive in patheticness."

Rerem took a long drink and ignored his Bothan partner.

He and Nash were old friends, and any number of insults was taken lightly. Rerem thought briefly of how Seline once mused that he and Nash could have created their own spoken code out of insulting each other. He and the Bothan had spent years working together, their partnership lasting through his mercenary days and now into their missions for the Alliance Intelligence. Despite their long association, Rerem could not pretend that he knew everything about Nash. It still bemused him as to why Nash preferred working with this team of unlikely individuals – normally Bothans seemed inclined to work with other agents of their species within the Bothan Spynet, rather than in these meshed teams of other Intelligence organizations. He was often their most vocal critic and constantly reminded them of the Bothan efficiency, which he held as an example for them all.

"Human sarcasm never was anything higher than pathetic, Nash," a gritty voice said. "Surely you've realized that by now."

Koss Olin appeared out of nowhere and sauntered over to them, his green lekku curling around the brown coat he had slung casually over his shoulder. He had one of his favoured Corellian ales in hand. He took a seat beside Rerem, balancing his chair precariously on the tips of its legs as he leaned against the bar.

"Nice boots," he said, eyeing Rerem's stolen footwear as he took a drink.

Rerem grunted. "Hi, Koss."

"You should be enjoying the hive, Rem!" he said. His voice echoed strangely into the tankard; it must have been more than half empty. "It's the place to be. Relax. Chill a bit. The hive rules."

Something akin to a growl rumbled at the back of Rerem's throat, but he let it go. "Hive" was the term Koss applied to any place that house the scum of the galaxy on their nights off. Bounty hunters, thieves, crime lords – whenever they weren't after their next job or planning their next heist they all found their way to a hive and they usually came out again. A hive was the only place where the Empire couldn't easily tell a rebel spy from the lords of Coruscant's underground. Of course, that sometimes led to Imperials blowing up certain locations just to be rid of the lot, but usually they couldn't continually risk so many casualties and the alternative was far too expensive. There were hundreds of people packed into one hive at any given moment and the Empire simply couldn't arrest them all.

With "hive" and "club" typically being the same thing, Rerem and his colleagues used the anonymity it provided as a place to meet if they had been working solo. However, they almost never got on to the topic of their work, because clubs tended to provide much needed relaxation – if clubs could be considered relaxing. The places were loud, boisterous, badly lit and they put Rerem on edge. More often than not, nothing would happen, but a lifetime of scarring experiences had proved that if you didn't expect the worse, you probably wouldn't get out in time. Despite _Alys_ being one of the more comfortable hives they visited thanks to Freide's presence, Rerem still wasn't prepared to let his guard down, especially after what had happened to Seline.

Koss, on the other hand, always looked to "chill" as much as possible. Sometimes the excitable Twi'lek forgot that spies don't get days off.

"There's my green girl!" Koss called drunkenly, his voice carrying high above the music. He shoved his tankard aside and pointed at Nyixa, who had appeared by the edge of the crowd, beckoning with one finger.

Rerem hid a twisted smile behind his glass. Despite Koss' free attitude, he was good at covering his tracks. If he excelled at anything, it was the art of acting tipsy when he wasn't drunk and sober when he was.

Nyixa glided across the floor towards them, her skin appearing more aquamarine than green in the club's bluish light. She was dressed in tight-fitting, shiny red attire that had large amounts of the material cut away in geometrical shapes so as to show as much of her bright skin as possible and accentuate her exotic spinal ridges. Her calves and feet were sheathed in black leather boots with heels that looked more like daggers than anything else. Naturally, she turned quite a few heads as she made her way through the throng of dancers. But when her audience saw her slide onto the lap of an ugly, heavily scarred Twi'lek and kiss him noisily on the mouth, they suddenly lost their interest.

"How's my green boy?" Nyixa purred playfully.

Nash grunted. "That's disgusting."

Koss threw his head back and howled with laughter.

Nyixa sat up straight but kept her arms linked around Koss' neck. "I hardly thought you'd look down on inter-species relationships, Nash," she said, sending him a smouldering look. "After all, isn't that on your list of things to fight for?"

Nash snorted, but whether it was with laughter or disdain, no one could tell. Koss took the opportunity to put his arms around Nyixa's waist and draw her closer, but she rapped him lightly on the forehead with her long, curved nails. "Don't get any ideas, green boy."

"Just playing the part, green girl."

"Keep doing that and she'll go red on you," Rerem said. "Or I'll vomit – whichever comes first."

Nyixa's fingers were tapping along Koss' collarbone, but her eyes were glaring at Rerem. "Watch it, you," she said, "or you'll be on the receiving end of one of my foot daggers." She raised a leg and shoved a booted heel in his face.

Rerem shrugged and turned back to his beer. Nash made a disgusted noise.

"See? That is what I mean."

Nyixa rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're no fun," she said, crossing her legs. Her eyes quickly scanned the vicinity and then she deliberately kissed Koss on the cheek. "It's all part of the game."

"Which is exactly my point," the Bothan growled. "You look like some dancer from the slave pens of Jabba the Hutt."

Nyixa's eyes widened and she placed a hand over her mouth, feigning astonishment. "Why Nash! What a thing to say!" With a devious look in her eye, she slid from Koss' lap and strode over to the Bothan. "An act's an act," she said, placing her long, thin hands on his knees. "Aren't I doing a lovely job?"

"Yes, _dear,_ and you're starting to make me sick. Could you turn off the pheromones just for once in your life? The whole reptilian look doesn't suit me."

Nyixa scoffed. "I must be losing my touch," she said, "but lucky for me I really don't so for the _equine _look." She returned to her place on Koss' lap, clicking her fingers as Nash rumbled with laughter. She signalled Freide for a tankard, which was served up promptly. Nyixa raised it in a wordless toast and downed the drink in one go.

"No, you aren't losing your touch," Koss said, grinning at her. "I've got about half them hivers jealous of a great ugly Twi'lek."

"Hmm," Nyixa said. "For a guy who looks like he got put through a blender and then stitched back together, you're not doing too bad." Her eyes narrowed. _"Too bad it isn't real,"_ she hissed under her breath.

"Cheers, Nyx," Koss said, toasting her.

"Just watch where you put your hands, or I'll make sure you end your days as a an uni'lek."

"You're too kind," Koss said, undeterred by her remarks.

"You're unbelievable." Nyixa turned her head towards Rerem. "So, great leader, are you going to tell us why you're wearing pointy toed boots that look like they were pulled out of someone's costume closet?"

"The reason is very uncomplicated," Rerem said. "I got chased and I had to leave my boots behind."

Koss scoffed. "Heh. Why did you have to leave your boots behind?"

"That's the part that isn't so uncomplicated. And it's not particularly nice."

"What's nice?" Koss shrugged. "Disappearing prisoners of war? Hundreds of people slaughtered because they're not human? Bio-experiments? We dig up this stuff and we pass it on. We live off the not nice. Every day the top man remains in power, we'll see _not nice_ stuff happening."

"Seline's dead, Koss," Rerem said.

"…what?"

"I found her in her room last night," Rerem continued, "and – well, you can see for yourself. They're broadcasting something about her murder right now."

The screens built into the club's walls were lit up with the news. The HoloNet was currently showing the murder scene, still awash with Seline's blood, and calling it the work of a serial killer. Rerem had expected the team would have seen this news by now, but apparently all three of them hadn't.

Koss stared at the screens and then hurled his tankard into the crowd of dancers. It smashed on the floor and several people yelped, but no one came to reprimand him.

"_Why are they showing that?"_ he hissed, his voice trembling.

"I imagine they're trying to bait us," Nash said. "Flush us out."

"This is what I hate about the poisoners," Rerem said. "They're constantly covering their tracks. They kill someone off and then they place the blame elsewhere. In this case, me, I think. My prints are all over the scene because I was the one who found her before they came bursting in."

"Do they really have to show all that?" Koss seethed, his eyes burning at the images of blood-spattered walls.

Nyixa slid off his lap and walked away, her heels clicking on the floor. Moments later, she returned with a bowl of cracknuts in hand. She threw herself into her own chair and sat back, watching the report with unblinking eyes.

Koss threw a handful of credits at Freide in exchange for another tankard. "I know what that is," he said. "I know why they haven't bothered to clean it off before doing their bloody report. It's a message to us. It's a message in Imperial agent code: WE KNOW YOU'RE HERE, YOU KRIFFING SCHUTTAS. SHOW YOURSELVES, YOU COWARDS." He angrily tipped back his head and drained most of his drink into his mouth.

"Calm down, Koss," Nyixa said. "This isn't helping."

"I know it bloody isn't helping! They killed Seline!" Koss slammed down his tankard. His lekku were twitching, but whether it was with anger or drunkenness, Rerem was at a hazard to guess. "It's a provocation. They think we're so soft-hearted we'll go running to them shouting, 'Vengeance! Vengeance!' Frak them, I think not."

"I'm surprised, I thought that's exactly what you were going to do," Nyixa said.

"Oh, shut it, Nyixa," Koss spat. "I thought you'd be red by now, doesn't this bother you one little bit?"

Nyixa shrugged and chewed on her cracknuts.

"I think you need to calm down, Koss," Rerem said. "You could jeopardize yourself."

"I _am_ calm," Koss seethed. "I'm not gonna jeopardize anyone." He took another long drink and fell into silence.

"I was just saying," Rerem told him, but he was ignored.

"Why were you at Seline's hotel, Rerem?" Nash asked.

"She asked me to meet her there," Rerem said. "She had something, something big. I just don't know what, I never found it. She was dead by the time I got there and the investigators arrived when I was still searching her room."

Nyixa pulled out a small datapad from the front of her shirt. She quietly observed the screen for a moment, her lips pursed, and flicked its controls lightly with her fingers. "Maybe you just weren't looking in the right place."

"Heh. Maybe. Too late now, the place is swarming with poison."

"That never stopped a self-respecting rebel," Koss said hotly.

"This is Rem we're talking about," Nash interrupted. "He has no self-respect."

"Glad to know you think so highly of me, Nash."

Nyixa's datapad beeped. Satisfied with whatever it was she was doing, she stashed it back in its hiding place.

Above, the ceiling chrono changed colour to a violent shade of electric purple. The club music transitioned into something brassy. Koss was staring straight ahead, his lekku twitching and curling up his back. He didn't even notice when Freide banged another drink down beside him.

"I'm going to dance," Nyixa announced suddenly, slipping off her chair. She drifted into the crowd without a backwards glance, her thin arms raised high to sway to the music's beat.

Nash set is glass down with a grunt. "Unbelievable," he said. "She's worse than a Zeltron."

"If you're offended, don't look," Rerem said.

"I plan not to." Nash got to his feet and lumbered off, disappearing into the throng of people.

"You're the one who's unbelievable," Koss mumbled.

"He's Bothan, what do you expect?" Rerem snapped.

"I need air, that's what I expect!"

"You expect you need air?"

Koss stood up, nearly knocking his chair over. "Yeah. This place is _suffocating."_

"Suit yourself," Rerem said as the Twi'lek stalked off.

The chrono on the ceiling turned blue. Rerem threw a handful of credits in Freide's direction, drained his glass and forced his way out through the crowd.

Five minutes later, stormtroopers burst on to the scene, shooting a good dozen people and blasting the sound equipment to smithereens. They were looking for a human, a Bothan, a Twi'lek and a Falleen. What they got were a confusing mix of stories about two green people and a pair of pointy-toed red boots.

* * *

_**48 hours, 12 minutes.**_

"That was too close," Nyixa said as they flew through an industrialized sector. "So much for a place to talk openly – we talk all right, but the _openly_ part is in question."

"You're the slicer, you should be used to reading codes," Koss snapped.

"What code?" Nyixa shot back. "I could hardly see your lekku move, much less read them—"

"Well _excuse me_ for noticing other Twi'leks in the room who would have picked up on it if I'd been a bit more vocal—"

"Oh, shut it, both of you," Rerem said irritably. His hands tightened on the speeder's yoke. Nyixa was right, it had been close. If they hadn't known their subtle signals to each other so well, it was likely that they wouldn't have made it out without injury. "We got out without any lasting damage. We can talk safely here as long as we stick to sectors that jam our signals, and if there's any recording equipment in the speeder, we'll just blow it up once we're done with it."

Nyixa exhaled loudly. "Yes. Of course. The solution to everything – blow it up."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the stolen speeder. This was not the first time that they had to run from Imperials, but it was the first time they had been close to getting caught. The fact that this chase came right after Seline's murder made them all edgy.

"They're on to us," Nash said. "They've traced one of our favourite hives. The poison is getting serious."

Rerem felt a pang of discomfort. _Alys_ was a loss. Now it had been raided by stormtroopers, there was no way they could go back. He hoped that Freide could tell convincing enough lies and that her involvement with them wouldn't kill her. He liked Freide; despite her guile, she was a good woman.

"It's more than likely that the other hives are compromised as well," Nash continued. "Whatever Seline found, they think we have it and they'll do anything in they're power to get it back."

"I wonder what it is," Koss mused darkly. "Strategic plans? Troop movement? We've been leaking that sort of stuff to Father for a while now and they never caught on—"

"Doesn't matter," Nash interrupted. "They've caught on now. The issue is that we _don't_ have what they're looking for."

"Leave that for the moment," Nyixa said. "Where can we go? We can't fly around in this thing forever. Assuming our other hives are compromised—"

"We go deeper," Rerem said. "I know a few guys who might be willing to give us shelter, for a fee."

"Why?" Koss said. "We've been changing places and alias for weeks and now they've got us running. Maybe it's time for us to run home."

"No!" Rerem said sharply. "We don't stop until we've squeezed out every last bit of intel Coruscant's got to offer."

"We're not in a good position," Koss countered. "We've managed to gather a good amount of intel now, if we pull out we could save our hides before—"

"What of the Alliance?" Nash interrupted. "What if we leave before we find something of more value than prisoner of war lists and minor troop assignments? Seline was killed because she uncovered something valuable. We need to follow up. We have the chance to find some of the most important intelligence, the kind that could greatly impact the Rebellion. What if we leave without bothering to uncover it and it brings along the end of the Alliance and the death of us all?"

"I smell a lot of what ifs in there, Nash," Koss spat. "I hate dealing with what ifs."

Nash barked a laugh. "You're still young, Koss, my friend. What if's power too much in this world to ignore them. Now, if we had been more able-bodied from the start, Seline might not have died. The Bothan Spynet, for example—"

"Shut up, Nash," Nyixa snapped. "We're floundering compared to the mighty Bothans. I get it. I don't need to hear how superior the Bothan Spynet is compared to tiny, meagre little us, even if we report directly to Father. Might I remind you that when you insult our team, you insult yourself?"

"Self-criticism can only help you grow stronger," Nash answered shortly. "No one is perfect and those who see themselves as flawless only cause trouble."

"I didn't imply that we're flawless," Nyixa said coolly. "Someone pass me a shirt, I'm tired of looking like some Twi'lek dancing girl."

Koss glowered at her. "Nyixa, I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult my species with every passing remark."

The Falleen girl shrugged. "I'm not apologizing," she said. "I'm tired and I have more stuff on my mind than you being offended. Besides, you were far too into your role tonight."

Koss' lekku twitched. "It worked, that's all that mattered. I heard them talking when I was sneaking out. They thought you were a Twi'lek—" He stopped short as he remembered Nyixa's remark about Twi'lek dancing girls.

Nyixa patted her delicate facial ridges and grimaced.

"Schutta!" Koss snapped. "You think _I_ was too far into my role tonight? What about you, smarming your way with your _pheromones_—"

Rerem grunted and jerked a little too hard on the controls, sending the speeder careening off in the wrong direction. "Someone give Nyixa a shirt before Koss bites her head off," he said irritably as he correct their flight path. "And Koss – shut up."

Nash dug through a pack he had found lodged in the compartments in the speeder's base. He found a shapeless black tunic and tossed it to Nyixa. She stiffly thanked the Bothan and shrugged into it.

Koss, meanwhile, was not shutting up.

"Shut up? _Shut up?_ Frak that, _sir_, I am not shutting up. I'm damn tired of her Falleen superiority, lording it over the rest of us. Most of her species isn't even involved with the Alliance, why should she care what we do? What makes her different from every other Falleen out there, the ones who would much rather sit and watch as the kriffing galaxy goes to hell because they're so _superior_ to everyone else. Isn't that what the Empire does? Why don't the Falleen go and smarm up to the mighty old kriffing Emperor, then, that's what—"

"SHUT IT, KOSS!" Rerem yelled, accidentally jerking the speeder to a stop. They were all flung forwards against their restraints.

The jaded Twi'lek bit down on his tongue. He coughed and spluttered, blood droplets flying from his mouth, but a moment of silence had been gained.

"I know," Rerem said slowly, "that some of us are a bit looser than others. The Alliance isn't all made up of bloody high-end good doers. There's some of us with our noses in the dirt, and there's some of us with loftier ideals. We all have our different reasons for joining the Rebellion. Some of us have something to fight for. Some of us don't, but we fight anyway. But right now it don't matter what those reasons are. It matters that we go and we do our job, and we can't do our job if we're fighting with each other. _Is that clear?"_

Silence settled among them, broken only by the hum of the speeder as it stayed in stasis mid-air.

"Sorry, Rerem," Nyixa said quietly.

Koss spat out blood. "Seline's dead, Rerem," he said.

"And you're going to take it out on your partners? How unprofessional."

"I can do without your smarm. Talking all high and mighty, you're not even our case officer—"

"I'm doing my job, Koss, since Seline isn't here to take care of it, and sometimes that means keeping hot-heads like you in check."

Koss spluttered something incomprehensible in Ryl, but his insulting tone was apparent enough.

Rerem's fingers clenched around the controls. "Listen carefully, the lot of you," he said. "I'm only gonna say this once. We've been plaguing these Imps' backsides for weeks without getting caught and we'd be damn fools to let one little murder stop us. Sure, Seline's gone, but as far as I can see, her death is her own fault. We don't have time to be reckless, which is exactly what she did. I may be a cold-hearted sithspawn to remember her like this, but remorse has no place in our line of work. _So forget her."_

Nyixa shifted in her seat, tugging on her black-red hair until it was knotted at the back of her head.

"Right now," Rerem continued through gritted teeth, "we have a one-person hole in our stratagem that needs to be fixed. We're gonna re-route our tactics and go after our goal without her. We're self-sufficient, people. All of us could get the job done solo if we had to. We're all solo players that can play the five-person team like a concertinium. If all of us go down, someone will be able to get through and that's why Father put us here in the first place."

The speeder started moving forwards again.

Koss clicked his tongue. "Are you done?"

"Are you?" Rerem shot back.

"What?"

"Are you done, Koss?" Rerem shouted, turning around in his seat to make eye contact with his colleague. "'Cause if you are, get out and be done. This is life for us. If you don't want it anymore, move over for someone who does, and go be inactive. This is a game and we have to play it every moment of our life. Murder's just part of the deal."

Rerem turned around and sat back in his seat, hoping that Koss would drop the subject. The Twi'lek was seething at the death of their colleague but Rerem could not risk him doing something stupid.

He chuckled half-heartedly to himself. Really… they were all stupid, in a way, choosing this crazy life. Rerem had been a spy for such a long time that he didn't know how to do anything else. He couldn't imagine himself walking away. It wasn't a bad life. Sure, it had its downsides – as Seline had reminded them all. Even 23ers eventually got done in. Assassins, Imperials, spies from the other side, never having a life outside the job, every step having to be perfectly calculated or else you'd find yourself drifting through the slime of a garbage compactor… It was all part of the game. You either embraced it or you died. It sure as hell sucked sometimes, but the thrill of adrenaline every waking moment was worth it.

If there was a rehab for adrenaline addicts, Rerem mused, then his entire team would have been admitted years ago. Crazy as sithspit, the lot of them were.

He just needed to keep them reminded of it.

"Something funny?" Nash said.

"Yeah," Koss said darkly before Rerem could reply. "I bet it's rib-cracking hilarious."

"Humans find the strangest things funny," Nyixa said calmly. "I thought we'd already been over that." She held her datapad in one hand and was flicking through its contents. Koss' recent explosion had barely troubled her; she acted as if his angry words hadn't been spoken at all.

"I can do without that, Nyixa," Rerem said.

"What are you doing?" Koss bit out. "Let me see." He snatched the datapad away from her.

Nyixa sighed. "Give it back, Koss. It wouldn't make sense to you."

The Twi'lek looked at the datapad's contents and then tossed it back to its owner, a disgusted look on his face. "That's sick, Nyixa."

"It's practical," she said.

"Kriffing sick!"

"What is it?" Nash interrupted, annoyed with his younger colleagues' fiery attitudes. "Rerem, if you hadn't any peace of mind, you'd drop him right now before he causes more trouble," he added under his breath.

"Koss will get over it," Rerem said. "At least, he better." He raised his voice. "What is it, Nyixa?"

"Crime scene photos."

"_Seline's_ crime scene photos," Koss corrected.

Nyixa ignored him. "I downloaded them off the ISB server."

"Why?"

"She was my partner for two years before we met you lot," Nyixa said. "I worked with her every day. Nothing with Seline was simple. I'm not giving up on her so quickly."

"She's dead, Nyixa."

"I wasn't implying she was alive. I just think that the intelligence she gathered may be hidden somewhere no one else would think to look."

Rerem snorted. "Like where? What could you possibly get from images that I couldn't get from _being there?"_

"A lot of things," Nyixa said coldly. "All I need is time."


	2. Companions Lost

_**39 hours, 6 minutes.**_

When Rerem had first arrived on Coruscant a month and a half ago, he had taken the pains to get himself a good alias and a working position in maintenance in one of the lower offices of the Imperial Service Bureau. He had been a spy for twenty-ish years now and he was good at getting into places his enemies never wanted him to be. All Imperials were pompous enough not to expect anything of a lowly maintenance worker who had a fairly clean background check, aside from a few gambling and parking incidences. Surveillance in the ISB was the first and foremost important thing for the team, and Rerem took it upon himself to see it done properly. After all, the Empire had spies sneaking into _their _intel organizations and someone from the Alliance had to return the favour.

Rerem got a kick out of walking through the front doors of the ISB every morning. People never looked at what was right in front of them.

"Humans never cease to be unobservant."

"Hey, Nash, while I'm working on getting you safely in here, would you mind not insulting my entire species? There's a lot of important, observant humans in the Rebellion."

"Oh, I am quite aware of that. However, that doesn't stop you from forcibly reminding me that I, as a non-human, cannot take the front door method you are so fond of."

"We could save a lot of time if the opposite were true," Rerem said, trying to pry the stubborn false wall open.

"There aren't any Bothans in government buildings anymore, Rem," Nash said. "The poisoners thinks our entire nation is made out of spies."

"True, true."

Nash was aiding Rerem in decoding several datafiles he had discovered that morning. The easiest thing would be for Rerem to copy them, but they were so secure that he couldn't remove them safely from their spot without setting off alarms everywhere. Because of this particular fix, Rerem had snuck Nash into the building. It was a bit of a risk – any Bothan spotted in the ISB would immediately be linked back to the Bothan Spynet, whether they were a spy or not – but Rerem didn't have much of a choice. The Empire was out hunting for green-skinned people, so Nyixa and Koss had to do their work elsewhere. Seline, being human, would have been the ideal partner for this situation, but Rerem couldn't do much about her being permanently out of action.

Finding ways of working around Seline's absence was going to be a lot harder than Rerem had thought. So much for the self-sufficiency he prided himself and his colleagues on.

The entrance to the maintenance shaft flew open all the way and Nash squeezed through. His large frame and bulk had difficulty manoeuvring in such tight places; he was relieved to finally be out.

"Took you long enough," he remarked dryly as Rerem closed the door.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a Jedi, so can we just move along now?"

"Absolutely, Rem," Nash said. They hurried down the corridor, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Rerem had temporarily disabled the cameras observing this corridor, but they were scheduled to turn back on within two minutes. If they were off for any longer, security would become suspicious.

"You know, I'd really appreciate it if you stopped calling me that."

"What, 'Rem'?"

"What else?" Rerem snapped. "Nicknames don't suit me. Never have, never will."

"Let me have this one; I get so little amusement. Nicknames might not suit you, but they sure do stick."

_And they have no meaning,_ Rerem said silently.

He had always been unconcerned about names, having piled on so many alias over the years, but he found nicknames to be a waste of time and highly annoying. This was especially true when the nicknames were developed out of a name that was really only an alias.

_Rerem_ wasn't his true name.

His true name was lost to memory. He had chosen Rerem as a new name because it was the first one that stuck in his head when he woke up, battered and bruised, in a dusty gutter on Tatooine nearly twenty-one years ago.

"Come on, Nash," Rerem said. "We've got a job to do."

* * *

_**39 hours, 3 minutes. **_

"…_So you're the one."_

"_Perhaps I am. I am uncertain as to what you refer."_

"_You're the one who killed her!"_

"_Not I – Koss, is it? Our spies tell us that your name is Koss Olin. Though truthfully I can pluck that information from your mind."_

"_You didn't kill her? Hah. Please. You're about as good a liar as you are threatening."_

"_And you are a pathetic, little man who needs to know his own boundaries. Do you know who I am?"_

"_Of course I do. Everyone knows you. You're a little difficult not to spot with all that armour on."_

"_Then you know that you have a decision to make."_

"_Talk or die? Kriff you—"_

"_I am not a patient man, Koss Olin. I have taken your blaster. Put down that vibroblade; it will not defend you. If you do not give me what I want, I can snap your neck without ever fighting."_

"_Yeah, yeah, so I've heard. You know, I'm not really partial to believe anything you say, _my lord_. I think it's more hoopla and rumours than truth."_

_Silence. _

"_Do you wish to put that to the test, Koss Olin?"_

_Laughter. "Not really, kriffing schutta. I'm gonna bleed out before I got through any kind of testing. You sure are sithspawn, aren't you?"_

"_I am giving you one last chance. Tell me where the datafiles Seline Orion stole are hidden and I will let you live."_

"_Now, you see, there might be a slight problem with that—"_

"_Which is? What is this problem you speak of? Ah. So, you do not know. Well, then, aren't you the useless spy. But there is another thing you can be useful for, never fear. I will give you one last chance. Tell me where the Rebel base is."_

"_HA! Rebel base? Frak, you really are sithspit crazy."_

"_I am warning you—"_

"_Warn all you like, 'cause _I'M NOT GONNA TELL YOU ANYTHING—!"

* * *

_**29 hours, 52 minutes. **_

The sky was burnt orange. It was quite the romantic sight; Rerem thought of all those gooey holodramas that had scenes featuring the main couple meeting on the roof of some building to declare their ever-lasting love. What sithspit. Roofs were most impractical. For one thing, the buildings in question peaked so high in the sky that the wind was undeniably vicious. It whipped their clothes around them and roared in their ears, making it difficult to hear each other.

Still, it was better than trying to find a hive. The Empire was cracking down on hives, it had been all over the HoloNet, and it wasn't just to send Rebel spies into jitters. The Imperials were doing their best to shake up the criminal community of Lower Coruscant.

Rerem and Nash had made it out of the ISB offices safely, but it turned out that the datafiles they had decoded were nothing more than a minor troop placement on some Mid-Rim planet that was of little interest to either the Empire or the Alliance. A lot of hard work had been wasted for next to nothing.

"I hope your day has at least been productive, Nyixa," Rerem told her bitterly.

"Keeping Koss in check is more difficult than it seems," she replied. "He ran off on me and I gave up chasing after him."

"He ran off on you?"

"He's still fuming about Seline's death," she explained. "Gods know why he's so upset, you'd think it wouldn't matter much to the likes of him, but he is royally shaken up. I've tried comming him, but he won't answer. I let him go. In all honesty, he was just getting in my way."

Rerem groaned. "As long as he hasn't done anything stupid—"

"Koss can take care of himself."

"No offence, Nyixa," Rerem said, "but I don't think you really understand the power grief plays on the psyche, especially in someone as hot-blooded as Koss. You can manage a whole lot of stupid when you're reeling in shock."

Nyixa pursed her lips together so tightly they almost disappeared. "Believe me, Rerem," she said coolly, "I have done a whole matter of stupid in my day. Remember that it was Darth Vader who was responsible for the deaths of thousands of my people. The Falleen may be successful at cloaking their emotions, but never make the mistake that we don't have any. We are as effected by death as the rest of you."

Rerem started to reply but silenced himself. He had a new sense of respect growing for Nyixa. He had known her for a year as the calm and cool Falleen spy who was never disconcerted by anything. She had class and style and was very effective with her methods if she didn't seem to care about anyone other than herself and her people. He only had to look as far as her reaction to Seline's death for an example. Her cold attitude towards everything was perceptibly reptilian, matching just about every assumption Rerem had about the Falleen species.

It was only with this recent remark that he was warming up to the idea that Nyixa's iciness was all a mask and somewhere beneath the scales were raw, burning emotions that were closer to human than any Falleen would dare admit.

"All right," he said. "Sorry. I… was making assumptions."

Nyixa smiled briefly. "Don't we all," she murmured.

"How about you tell us why we're dragged all the way up here in the first place?" Nash interrupted. He was impatiently striding to and fro across the roof, his eyes constantly scanning in-coming traffic in case anyone flew too close for comfort.

Nyixa pulled out her datapad. "This," she said.

"Not that again," Nash grunted. He crossed to her and took it out of her hands. "I don't need to see Seline's death images any more—"

"It's not just Seline's death images!" Nyixa said furiously, snatching the datapad back. "If you would wait just a second and let me explain."

Rerem put a hand to his forehead. "All right, go ahead."

Nyixa opened the datapad and punched several keys. A series of holographic images appeared hovering above it. They were scanned and cropped pictures from the scene in Seline's hotel room, but they had coloured markings all over them.

"This is what I've been working on all day," Nyixa said.

"Scribblings?" Nash said sceptically.

"In a way, yes." Her hooked fingers pointed out a pattern in the blood on the wall. "I knew Seline for a very long time. We were close. We worked together and knew each other's ways inside and out. There was much more going on in that room than you could have expected, Rerem. I just spent an entire day decoding a posthumous message from her."

"Message?" Rerem looked closer at the images. "In the blood?"

Nyixa nodded. "Yes. Someone didn't do that to her – she did it to herself."

"How…" Rerem's voice caught in his throat. "…morbid."

"Whatever she found it was important enough that she would sacrifice herself to ensure that we got it," Nyixa continued.

"She cut her own throat?" Nash mused.

"Probably to avoid being interrogated," Nyixa said. "She probably knew they were coming. From the complexity of the message, I'm guessing that she cut her own arms to draw the code and only finished right when her attackers got there. They broke the windows to get to her. She'd rather die than let them know where hid her precious datafiles, so she slashed her own throat before they could cart her off for interrogation."

"This has got to be big whatever it is," Rerem said.

"How do you know that what you're seeing really is a message and not just a bloody gruesome murder?" Nash asked.

Nyixa straightened her back and the Bothan with an icy stare. "Because it was written in a code we developed together, hidden within splashes of her own blood. It was obvious once I saw it up close."

Nash guffawed. "I don't believe it."

"I can tell you about my work if you like," Nyixa said, "but you probably wouldn't understand it. The code is quite complicated and was difficult to read because of smudging."

"No, we'll take your word for it," Rerem said, staving off Nash's retort. Nyixa's abilities with codes had proved crucial in previous missions over the past year since she joined the team. If her skill had worked then, it probably worked now and Rerem didn't have a good enough reason to mistrust her judgement. "What does it say?"

"Directions for how to get the datafiles," Nyixa answered, flicking a couple keys. The images disappeared and a map reappeared in its place. "I programmed it into this datapad. We should go now and retrieve it. If it's worth Seline sacrificing her life to get this to me, Father needs to know what it is."

Rerem nodded. "You should go now, both of you," he said, looking between his colleagues. "Go before the poisoners get too jumpy."

Nyixa closed down the datapad and stashed it away. "You're not coming with us? Rerem, we might need you."

He shook his head. "I need to find Koss. He's turned volatile and for all I know, he's gone and done something stupid. I'm the only one who can talk to him; you make him very angry sometimes, Nyixa."

Her shoulders sunk. "I know," she said, disgruntled. "That schutta Twi'lek."

"I'm not leaving one of us out there in a precarious situation with a fired up mind," Rerem said flatly. "For all we know, Koss could bust our vac suit even more. I need to find him while he's still a liability."

"Have it your own way," Nash said. "I'm not going to argue with you. Koss is your problem. Where should we rendezvous?"

"Back up here," Rerem said. "I've scouted it out, it's safe enough to continue using for a meeting point."

"Right."

Rerem nodded and moved away towards the speeder he had taken to get here. He paused before climbing in and turned back to his colleagues. "Hey, you two!" he called. "I don't want any incidents, you hear?"

"Same goes for you!" Nash hollered back. "Comm us if you have trouble!"

Rerem grinned, raising a hand in farewell, and clambered into the speeder.

_Koss, wherever you are, I hope you haven't been making a damn fool out of yourself._

_

* * *

_

_**25 hours, 10 minutes.**_

Koss' trail floundered all over the Coruscant underground. Rerem wasn't an expert tracker, so it took him some time and much irritable cursing at Koss' behaviour. He had half a mind to send him packing back to Ryloth once he found him; he had never thought the Twi'lek could act so recklessly. Seline's death had impacted Koss in a way Rerem had never expected.

The longer Rerem searched, the further into Coruscant's core he went. At the back of his mind he considered giving up on his colleague entirely, but that idea was quickly squashed. Even if he hadn't assumed Seline's role as leader, he looked out for those he worked with, whether they were being idiots or not. Besides, he couldn't risk Koss' big mouth slipping up to the Imperials.

Somehow, Rerem found himself – blaster in one hand – in the dark, dank dinginess of a cantina somewhere in the lost vaults of the city. The cantina was empty – for the most part. The bodies of the previously living thieves and low-lives were all slunk in their positions, riddled with blaster wounds. If Koss had indeed come here, it looked like the Imperials were hot on his heels, or else had already caught up with him.

Rerem went further into the cantina, running up a flight of stairs to the upper levels. The whole place stank and here was barely any light. He pulled a short glowstick and held it above his head. The light roved over black walls and creaking floors, until it came across a dark patch on the grimy grey tiles of a fresher entrance. There was something dark splotched on the floor.

A wave of déjà vu hit Rerem and he lowered the glowstick, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He slowly entered the fresher, his nostrils flaring at the stench within.

The room was fairly large for a communal fresher. The wiring of the lights above crackled and flared, spitting sparks. The taps were on, pouring water into their appointed sinks, though the drains were clogged and water surged up over the sides of the splintered sinks and gushed on to the floor. Rerem's feet slipped and skidded, sending him hurling into a sink. Dropping his blaster, he grabbed the facets with one hand to steady himself. His glowstick lit up the cracked mirror and he saw his pale, unshaven reflection.

Something red oozed down the glass where his face was reflected.

Feeling nauseated, Rerem lifted the glowstick. The fractured glass revealed the limp, slashed form of a green-skinned Twi'lek laying prone on the tiles behind him. Splattered across the row of mirrors in blood were the letters V-A-D-E-R.

"_Kriffing hell."_

Rerem wheeled around and slipped across the watery floor to Koss' body. He knew that the Twi'lek was already dead, but he wanted to check, just in case some miracle happened. Rerem knew better: no miracles happened when the Emperor's right-hand was involved, but there was always a chance for anything.

Koss lay prone, his dead eyes staring up at the ceiling, a bloody vibroblade in his hand. Despite the wound to his arm and his slashed throat, there was an immutable grin on his face, as if he had died laughing at his enemy. The memory of Seline's body waved in Rerem's vision and he crumpled beside his dead partner.

Rerem rested his forehead on his knuckles, his teeth gritted together as he unleashed a vehement stream of expletives under his breath. Whatever Seline had found, it must be deadly to the Empire for them to send Vader after their team. After seeing what Nyixa had uncovered in Seline's spattered lifeblood, Rerem knew that Koss had managed to replicate her feat – albeit to a less subtle degree – to tell him exactly who was responsible. Judging from the vibroblade, Rerem guessed that Koss had taken his own life to prevent Vader from mind-tricking him into releasing any information about the Alliance.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it… _

Rerem gently closed his partner's eyes out of respect and rose to his feet. Vader's name was glowing crimson on the mirror in the light of the glowstick. Rerem strode towards it and wiped the bloody name off in one swipe of his hand.

If Vader was after them, they had precious little time left. The Emperor's right-hand man was the most feared person in the galaxy for a reason.

"All right then," Rerem hissed, still leaning against the mirror with his reddened hand pushed up against the split glass. "If you're gonna pick us off one by one, then I'm sure as hell making sure we go down with a fight. Those datafiles are gonna reach Father if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

_**25 hours, 3 minutes.**_

"_Nyixa, you have to get out of here—"_

"_No, I'm not leaving you!"_

"_Nyixa, you don't have a choice."_

"_I have plenty of choice. _I'm not leaving you."

"This is a bad time to get stubborn, girl!"

"_Don't you shout at me!"_

"_Nyixa, you do as I tell you or I swear I'll knock you out myself and shove you out the exit unconscious!"_

"_Like that would do me any good! Can't run if you're unconscious!"_

"_Nyixa. This is Vader."_

"_I know."_

"This is Vader."

"_I BLOODY KNOW THAT!"_

"_You have to get those datafiles out! Whatever is in them is detrimental to the poisoners, Father _needs_ that information!"_

"_I can't just let you die! There's been too much—"_

"_Don't say too much death. There will always be too much death."_

"… _first Seline, now you. I can't take much more of this."_

"_So much for the steel-encased emotions of the Falleen."_

"_We deceive people. I've told you before, it's only a perception that we're emotionless."_

"_Or maybe you're just a one-of-a-kind among your nation."_

"_This is a really bad time to get sentimental, Nash. Save it for later."_

"_All right, I take that last statement back."_

"You're impossible!"

"_Stop spitting in my ear, girl! I can hear you! And I can hear _him._ We don't have much time. Now get down there and run. We're just lucky that we ran this far into the underlevels—"_

"_Why don't you come with me?"_

"_Heh. As if! You do notice how large I am, girl?"_

"_Stop calling me 'girl'!"_

"_No matter, I won't be bothering you much longer."_

"_NASH! If I'm going, you're going, too—"_

"_I can't. I won't fit. You're lucky that you're slim enough to get down there in the first place. Now go."_

"_Nash—"_

"_GO!"_

"_OUCH!"_

"_Are you all right?"_

"… _fine. I think."_

"_Good luck, Nyixa."_

"Don't think that you're getting away with this, Nash—"

_Silence. _

"_Well, it appears the Bothan spies have managed to infiltrate deep into Coruscant's underlevels. How… trivial."_

"_If we're so trivial, perhaps you would consider leaving us be, my lord."_

"_Lord? Truly your politeness knows no bounds, Bothan. I would have assumed you had many a different name for me."_

"_Oh, believe me, I do, I'm just not saying them aloud."_

"_Respect from the enemy! This is a rarity."_

"_I'd hardly call it respect_, sir._ There are no words to describe my people's hatred for you and that living carcass you serve."_

"_My master would take great offence at your tone, Bothan."_

"_Good for me. I score a point."_

"_Though he would be shamed to hear your sense of sarcasm. It is lacking."_

"_Shall we get to the point, Lord Vader? I have something you want. I'm not giving it to you."_

"_I can drag it from your quivering mind by force."_

"_Indeed. You can try."_

"_Then tell me and I will make your demise as painless as possible – where are the datafiles?"_

"_Gone."_

"Where are the datafiles, Bothan?"

"… _gone."_

"_I could squeeze the air out of your lungs right now and finish you off. I give you one last chance."_

"_Never…! Sorry. I'm… not… going… to… let you… have... that – satisfaction!"_

_Thud. Silence. _

"_Nash! NASH!"_

"_So it appears there is another one here, is there?"_

"_NASH!"_

"_Hiding in the sewers like vermin that you are."_

"_I… I'm not vermin, Vader!"_

"_No, perhaps not. Falleen, are you not? Those devious people whose minds are shielded from my powers. And animals, by all rights, just like this Bothan here—"_

"_FRAK!"_

"_It seems to me that you must learn to watch your tongue."_

"_Nash…"_

"_He must have been a good friend, a good ally, dying for you like that. But no matter: I will find you, young Falleen. The end will come, even if it be not now."_

_Silence. _


	3. Ran to Ruin

_**19 hours, 11 minutes.**_

The sun had risen, blossoming pink and gold across the morning sky. Rerem lay curled on the roof under his jacket, biting his nails and waiting. He had tried multiple times to contact Nyixa, but she was not answering her comm. Nash, too, was absent. Rerem had a suspicion that something nasty had occurred over the night and he could only cross his fingers and hope that his colleagues had made it out alive. If Vader had somehow managed to track them, too, then Seline's stolen datafiles may already be back in Imperial hands and his partners could be stone dead.

_No,_ he thought vehemently. _It hasn't come to that yet. _

With his failure to contact his colleagues, Rerem had tried to reach out to the officer in charge of Alliance intel on Coruscant. Once Nyixa and Nash returned from retrieving Seline's stolen datafiles, they would have to transmit them to the Alliance. With their communicators and systems down in the past few days, Dreis would have to be notified. He was the only one who could help them complete their mission. Unfortunately, Rerem couldn't get through to him.

He drifted in and out of sleep, startling himself awake whenever he thought he heard the sounds of an approaching speeder. Vader's bloody name oozed in and out of his thoughts, accompanied by Seline and Koss' mutilated bodies. Well, it was only a matter of time before they all met their end. No one had ever said the life expectancy of a spy was long.

He had been here for a month and a half. Rerem wished that they had lasted longer, but the time _was_ long. Some jobs only took mere weeks. Sometimes it felt like a mighty long time, sometimes it felt like no time at all. Time was a funny thing for a spy. Days flew by at insanely fast rates, but collective weeks took forever to pass.

And now time was slipping by faster than Rerem thought possible.

_Someone ought to find the leak and plug it up,_ he thought sourly. _Or just get me a strong drink so I can forget all this. _

"Rerem."

His eyes flickered open. His vision was blurry – all he saw was a blur of green and black in front of him.

"_Rerem!"_ The female voice was a bit hysterical.

Rerem rubbed his eyes and suddenly his mind snapped into gear. He leapt to his feet.

Nyixa was standing in front of him, her skin pale green mottled with red, something he had never seen before. Her eyes were wide and wild and she was trembling from head to toe.

She was also covered in dark, red blood.

"Oh, gods, Nyixa!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off and teetered to one side. He followed. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." She tugged at her clothes and rubbed her blood-splattered arms. "I'm fine."

"What happened? Where's Nash?" He didn't need her to answer; the ice-cold feeling in his stomach was telling him exactly what had happened.

"I'll tell you," she said. "Just… let's get away from here. We need to go someplace else. Where's Koss?"

He ignored her. "Do you have Seline's datafiles?"

She nodded. "Please, Rerem, can we go?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He led her over to his speeder and kicked the machine into gear. They flew up and out into the early morning Coruscanti traffic, sailing down towards more familiar zones that would lead them out of sight and mind of the Imperial friendly upper-worlders.

Nyixa sat in silence, staring at hands. There were deep black lines all over them, where blood had seeped into the cracks between the small scales that covered her skin. She flexed her fingers and snapped her gaze away.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Rerem asked.

"Nash is dead. Vader found us right after we got the files. Chased us across the underground until…" Her voice faded away. "Nash is dead," she intoned again.

"Koss is too," Rerem told her. "I found his body, like Seline's. He'd managed to scrawl Vader's name across the fresher mirrors with his own blood. He was warning me what was coming, but I guess he didn't need to." He glanced at her, but she was refusing to look. "Do you know what is in the datafiles?"

"No," she said. "I didn't have time. We got them and we ran. We ran… Kriff, we ran like hell." She tugged at her black-rooted red hair.

"Are you injured? You're covered in—"

"Not mine."

"Oh."

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe. Hopefully."

"A hive."

"Maybe."

"Hives aren't safe, you know."

"We don't have much of a choice now."

They flew in silence. It was only now that it began to sink in that three of their team's members were dead. They were the final two standing, the only ones capable of bringing the Alliance some devastatingly important information, though neither of them knew what it was.

Rerem knew that it was chancy going back to a hive – he winced even as he thought the word, it was Koss' word, Koss' label, and Koss was dead – but they needed food, rest, clean clothes. They were exhausted; Nyixa was in no state to keep running. They needed only a few hours of safety to recuperate and then they could run again.

Surely a hive was safe enough for just a few hours.

The problem would be getting there safely.

They had only been in flight for a quarter of an hour when Rerem noticed they were being tailed. A couple of dark speeders were taking the same route as them, keeping a comfortable distance between themselves and their target. When Rerem began taking more roundabout routes through Coruscant's sectors, he knew for certain that those speeders belonged to Imperial agents. No one in the right mind would take the traffic way he was on.

"Rerem, get us out of here, they're still on to us."

"You don't have to tell me the obvious!" he snapped.

The speeder dove down, plummeting multiple stories by the second, whipping past the angry traffic in the air ways below. Nyixa twisted her head around and saw the Imperial speeders follow.

"That's not going to work."

"Give me a break, would you?" Rerem snapped. "Do you want to fly?" He pulled out of the nosedive, turned one-eighty degrees in the air and zoomed off in a different direction.

They swung around the twisted towers of office buildings as they entered one of the planet's many commercial sectors. The traffic began to thicken. If they could lose their pursuers in the crowd, it would give them a chance to cover their tracks.

A black speeder wove out of the throng ahead of them, zooming towards them on the opposite traffic way. Rerem swore and plunged another level at the last moment; the Imperial speeder went flying by.

"Damn it!"

Rerem pulled on the controls and flipped the vehicle around. Angry shouts and honking buzzers followed them as their speeder whizzed up the wrong direction on the traffic ways, ducking and diving as they steered clear of collisions. Oncoming speeders swerved away just in time to avoid impact. Nyixa clutched at her restraints until her fingertips turned pale green. She looked like she was going to be violently ill.

"You're going to get us killed!" she shouted.

"I'm going to get us lost!" he snapped. "How many people can fly against the traffic without getting killed? It's like being in a –"

The speeder dropped suddenly with a jerk. They heard the deafening screech of metal on metal as a vehicle grazed the top of their cockpit.

"—bloody asteroid field!"

"AND YOU'RE NOT A KRIFFING PILOT!"

Nyixa lashed out, grabbing the controls and pulling them into a nose-dive. They shot down, barely making it through the moving net of traffic, down until the crowd of morning traffic thinned out. Rerem tried to push her out of the way, but she clutched at the controls. They scuffled for a moment, restricted by the small space, until he finally managed to release her grip and levelled their flight path.

"What the hell was that for?" he shouted.

Nyixa refused to look at him. Instead, she pointed upwards, out the cockpit window.

The black speeders were following them, sailing down at a less reckless pace than they had, but catching up nonetheless.

Rerem swore loudly and sped off into the dim light of the Lower Coruscant traffic ways. A red light began to flash on the control board, blinding his peripheral vision as it blinked on and off.

It was the fuel warning.

"Are they still following us?" Rerem said, continuing their downwards serve.

"Yes."

"Damn it."

A shot fired, hitting the back of the speeder, causing it to rock from side to side. Their flight path swerved unintentionally and they almost flew into the lower parts of a skyscraper.

"Oh, and they're armed," Rerem said. "Wonderful."

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to do something incredibly stupid?"

Rerem glanced at the blinking fuel mark. "Because I am going to do something incredibly stupid," he said.

He abruptly changed the angle of their flight path, sending them on a collision course for the ground. At the very last minute, he disabled their restraints, opened the cockpit – and punched the emergency eject button.

Rerem and Nyixa flew up and out as their speeder crashed in a blaze of twisted metal on the underbelly of Coruscant. They landed, hard, on the cold duracrete, several feet from each other. Winded, Rerem pulled himself up. Nyixa struggled to her feet, clutching at the alley wall for support.

Above, they heard the sounds of the approaching Imperial agents.

"Let's go," Rerem said.

Nyixa nodded and followed him into the dim alleyways of Coruscant's underground, looking for a way up and out of Imperial view. Battered, bruised and breathless, they wordlessly made their way around the empty streets, the echoes of Imperial agents continuously following them.

Most of the buildings in this area looked decrepit and were in disarray; however, there were some newer ones sprouting up beside them. Looked like the government was attempting to refurbish this commercial area. Rerem and Nyixa found the lower entrance into one of the buildings. It lead into a maze of corridors and stairwells, most of them with flickering lights that alternatively let them see their own feet and left them in the dark. They took the passages anyway; they needed to lose their pursuers and find a way out as soon as possible.

_At least we're alive,_ Rerem thought. _It doesn't stop while you're still breathing. _

They ran down the corridors, fleeing into the darkness of badly lit corridors. Nyixa stumbled to a halt, leaning against the wall.

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry… I can't… I don't mean to…" Her voice trailed off. The lights went out. Rerem couldn't see her in this darkness, but he could hear her ragged breathing. "Take this," she said, grabbing his hand and pushing the datapad into it. "Leave me, I can't run anymore. I'm slowing you down."

Rerem's fingers closed around the datapad. "Seline encrypted this, didn't she," he said.

"Yeah."

"And you haven't cracked it."

"No. Poison won't be able to slice it if… if they get it.""

"Seline was good at creating ridiculous codes," Rerem said, "and you seem to be the only person who was ever good at cracking them. Father will need you to break it. I'm not leaving you down here."

"_Schutta!"_

"There's no reason for me to leave you," Rerem said coldly. "You're fine. You just need a moment."

"No, I—"

"Nyixa, you aren't allowed to fall apart right now. That's an order. Now take this thing and get your head back where it belongs." He shoved the datapad back into her hand. She paused, intent on making him change his mind; but then she faltered and took the datapad anyway.

"All right."

_Clang._

A blaster bolt fired into the wall opposite them, lighting up the corridor with red.

"Damn it!"

Rerem pelted down the corridor, one hand gripping Nyixa's arm, forcing her to run. The lights flickered back on just as they rounded the corner at the end of the corridor. Rerem saw nothing but a line of blaster barrels before he went tumbling head-over-heels, his nose impacting with the floor, and felt a wave of heat as blaster bolts flew over him. Nyixa had knocked him out of the way.

He pushed himself up and dove back around the corner, seeing Nyixa's fleeing back as she wrenched open a concealed door and disappeared into the passage beyond. All around him, the voices of Imperial agents echoed. Judging from the thundering of boots, there was probably a stormtrooper squadron with them, too. He hadn't been able to catch sight of their numbers when he'd run into their line of fire, but the echoing sounds left very little to the imagination.

Rerem's hands stung from the burns he had received from sliding on the floor; now was not the time to focus on pain. He sprinted after his partner, banging the door closed behind him and locking it. As he ran up the corridor, he could hear Imperials banging and knocking on the door in an attempt to open it.

At the end of the passage, they came to an elevator. They skidded into it. Rerem punched the up button as the doors closed. The elevator was a rickety old thing, badly in need of repairs. It shifted and creaked, the floor vibrating as it slowly brought them up.

It refused to work after it had only gone up a few floors. Rerem pried its doors open. The lift had stopped after it had passed the landing. There was just enough clearing to slip out. Crouching down, Rerem slipped off the elevator base and fell several feet down to land on the landing floor. Nyixa followed a moment later. Rerem caught her as she fell towards him.

With her feet firmly on solid floor, Nyixa pushed him away. "No," she hissed, her voice catching in her throat. Her hair had come loose again and she brushed it away furiously.

"What?"

Rerem stared, confused, as Nyixa stumbled into the darkness of the abandoned halls. After a moment, he followed her into the gloom.

* * *

_**18 hours, 17 minutes. **_

The lights flickered and cracked like lightning unaccompanied by the roar of thunder. The buzzing of the faulty wiring shot through the entire room, challenging the echo of dripping taps. It was dark and dank, the smell of mould and decay assaulting their sense of smell.

They were in the locker room of an abandoned, crumbling industrial facility whose purpose was long forgotten. It was just another part of the landscape in the lower levels of Coruscant. The connected maze of abandoned buildings had led them here, faltering on exhausted, jellied legs, to escape between the moulding lockers and try to find an exit before their relentless pursuers caught up with them.

Nyixa stumbled and collapsed on the cold, damp floor some ways ahead of him. She was panting heavily, her strength having drained over the long, frantic hours. Rerem followed the sound of her unsteady breath, occasionally catching the a glimpse of her prone, curled form in the hesitant illumination of the sparking lights.

"Hey," he called. "Nyixa."

She lay, face-first in the water, her fingers curled into fists. Rerem knelt beside her and tried to get her attention. But whenever he called her name, she merely shuddered and curled more tightly against herself. In the dim light, he could see that her green skin was flushing red. She was quickly losing the battle to keep her emotions in check.

"_Nyixa."_ Rerem shifted uncomfortably; his pant legs were soaked through where he had rested his knees against the wet floor tiles. "Don't do this now. We need to keep moving."

He cautiously touched her back; he could feel the bumps of her spinal ridges beneath the loose black shirt she wore. Nyixa shuddered and flinched away, pushing herself into the tiles. She lay there for a long time, her breathing slowly coming back to normal.

Rerem was at a loss at what to do. They couldn't stay here for long; the Imperials would eventually figure out which route they took. That was not the only danger, either – this place was not structurally safe. Looking around it was evident that years of mould and decay from leaking pipes and drains could bring the roof down on their heads at any moment. Yet Nyixa was adamant that she was not moving from her spot, not until she managed to collect herself. She had been falling apart at the seams ever since she had staggered onto the roof that morning.

Rerem swore under his breath. Things were unravelling fast. It was a surprise that they had managed to make it this far. He wondered if this constant feeling of panic was what every spy felt when they knew the enemy was closing in and the likelihood of escape was low, no matter how they put their skills to the test.

"Come on, Nyixa, don't do this to me now."

The lights crackled overhead. Nyixa suddenly sat up and looked him straight in the eye. Through the stringy red-black strands of damp, oily hair, her face was a grotesque mix of blotched green and red, crusted with dried blood on one side. The other half of her face, which had been pressed into the water-covered floor tiles, glowed eerily. What little make-up she had applied yesterday streamed down from her right eye where water had mixed with it.

Rerem froze. It was impossible to say what his colleague was going to do next. She looked like a witch out of a nightmare, her green skin rapidly shifting to red. Rerem faintly recalled how they had frequently joked about Nyixa's inability – or aversion – to turn red. Now that it was actually happening right in front of his eyes, it was one of the most terrifying things he had ever witnessed.

"I need a moment," she hissed. Tearing her boots off her feet, she rose and sloshed her way down aisles of lockers.

"Nyixa!"

Rerem followed, but at a safe distance. He wasn't sure what she was looking for. In this moment, Nyixa was startlingly alien. Rerem had worked with so many non-humans over the years that the lines between species blurred, turning into social obstacles very much like the ones that divided humans who came from different planets. It was a strange thing; his mind always did play tricks on him. Since the team had come together, humans working with Bothans, Twi'leks and Falleen, they had accepted one another and made games out of insulting each others species – usually with good nature, unless they were angry with each other. But in all that time, Rerem had never really considered any of them to be _alien._ Even though he knew full well that Nyixa was Falleen, his mind almost never really acknowledged her alien qualities, even when he was brooding about her use of pheromones. The pheromones had always seemed like a personal quirk, not a trait of her foreignness.

But now… this was something different. Had Nyixa cracked under pressure? What had she seen when Nash was killed that traumatized her so much?

He could hear her trembling breath coming from the end of the locker room. Rerem splashed through the puddles of water and skidded to a halt. Nyixa's blood-soaked clothes lay in a pile outside the entrance to one of the facilities' showers. Her datapad sat on top of it, along with her two blasters and collection of vibroblades. Rerem stooped and picked up the clothes, stashing the datapad away in his own pocket, listening to the trickling spray of the shower. From the sound of it, the water pressure was horrible.

Rerem looked down at the soggy clothes he held in his hands. They were drenched with water. Rerem squeezed as much of the liquid out as possible and gently hung the clothing on a rusting hook just inside the entrance way. The shower didn't have a curtain and he could see a flash of red skin in his peripheral vision; for Nyixa's sake, he kept his eyes averted and went to lean against the moulding wall in the locker room.

He folded his arms and waited, listening to the trickle of water and Nyixa's faltering sobs as she tried to scour herself clean of the blood that covered her from head to foot. In the flickering light, he saw that the soles of his red boots – a fleeting source of humour only a day ago when Koss and Nash had been alive, brought on by Seline's own sacrifice – had turned dark from the water. They were dark like blood.

The imagery was not lost on Rerem. He laughed; it was a cold, hopeless sort of sound.

_How appropriate, _he mused. It was as if the galaxy was conspiring against him, filling his hours with death signs. He had never been one for occult symbology, finding the belief in mythical symbols and a greater force beyond the tangible powers of sentient beings to be kriffing drivel. But maybe when life starting tripping you up, you started seeing things that weren't really there. A way to cope, a way to convince yourself that it's not your fault that you can't control what's going to happen to you…

After a while, the sobs from inside the shower faded but the water continued to flow.

"Nyixa?"

"It… it… won't come off," she whispered, her voice echoing strangely from inside the shower alcove. "The blood… it won't come off."

"Nyixa," Rerem said as gently as he could, "you need to stop this, whatever it is you're doing—"

"The blood won't come off!"

Rerem closed his eyes. Nyixa – icy, dependable, cold-blooded Nyixa – was losing it. He took a deep breath.

"Nyixa, can I come in?"

There was the sound of shuffling of feet on wet tiles and the sliding of damp fabric over cold skin. The shower was still on. Rerem waited, but Nyixa did not answer. He edged around the corner of the alcove.

Nyixa sat in the shower stall, dressed in her clothes, her back against the damp, mould-encrusted wall. The fine spray of water rushed over her, turning pink at her feet. Her skin was dark red, not far from the shade of blood, and she scratched at her arms, as if she wished to dig the blood from her skin. Her eyes stared straight ahead even as he approached.

"I like water," she said slowly. "Water is good."

Rerem recalled that the Falleen were semi-aquatic. "Yeah. Sure."

Nyixa leaned her head back. "Why won't it leave me alone?" she said quietly.

"What won't leave you alone?" Rerem stepped into the shower and sat down beside her. He tried to ignore his involuntary flinching; the water was ice cold.

"Nash's blood," she said, holding up her trembling hands in front of her. "Bothan blood. Slaughtered like an animal right above me. Animals… he called us animals. He'll hunt us, kill us like animals."

"How did this happen?" Rerem didn't consider himself an expert at all this psychological stuff, but Nyixa was so distressed that he knew she needed to talk about it. The sooner she did, the sooner they could move on. He needed her in her right mind; she alone could break the codes for those datafiles Seline had stolen.

A low laugh caught deep in her throat. "Down into the sewers, down the drain. That's how I got out. Nash wouldn't come, wouldn't fit down the drain… too big, he said. Liar. I thought he could."

"And?"

Nyixa rolled her head and stared at him. "I was standing under the drain, waiting for him to follow. Vader came. They argued. Nash held him up to give me time to escape, but…" She shuddered. "I didn't leave. Wish I had. Should have. Should have… why is this bothering me?"

"Haven't you always said that Falleen feel emotions just like everyone else?" Rerem offered, trying to sound gentle.

Nyixa pressed her forehead into his shoulder, her fingers tearing at the roots of her hair. "I wish we didn't. We're trained not to. I hated emotions… until I met Seline. She changed my mind, but now she's dead. Why can't I go back?"

Rerem caught hold of her hands before she scratched a wound in her scalp with those long, sharp nails. The last thing she needed was to bleed herself. "The galaxy doesn't work like that. Did Vader kill Nash?"

She shook her head. Her hands went limp in his grasp. "No. He wouldn't give Vader any information. He was standing right over top of the drain when he slashed his own throat."

Rerem froze, feeling only the tiny water droplets hitting his face. Nash had killed himself, just like Seline and Koss, all to prevent them being tortured into giving information. The dead don't speak. But Seline and Koss had managed to send him messages anyway, through their deaths, through their blood. And Nash had sacrificed himself to save Nyixa's life, sending her back to Rerem so they could try to get the datafiles to the Alliance.

"There was so much blood… so much blood."

Nyixa was clinging to him, fighting her memories of Nash's death, soothed by the only thing that gave her comfort – the rush of water, feeble though it was, and the idea that it could wash the horrors away. Rerem held her, unable to think of anything else he could do for her.

_Let this pass,_ he prayed. He normally never prayed. He wasn't religious and didn't much see the point in gods, but if there was one – or several – he hoped that they could hear him. _Please, just let this pass. _He needed Nyixa to come back to her senses, otherwise he _would_ have to leave her here. As much as he needed her help getting those datafiles to the Alliance, he could always improvise and work around her loss. The Empire's plans were what mattered here, more than either of their lives, but datafiles couldn't walk to Rebel leaders all on their own. If Nyixa caused them to be caught, then it would all be for nothing. Rerem knew that it would be better to abandon her and continue on his own if it heightened his chances of getting through alive. There were always other slicers among the Rebellion; one of them could probably crack the code and retrieve the datafiles.

But from the strange feeling in his stomach, Rerem imagined that part of his concern was because he really _didn't_ want to leave Nyixa behind. He would if he had to, but he didn't. There was a time when he would have gone on by himself, but he had spent too much time working with this team to easily abandon their last player.

Nyixa slowly fell silent. "Why won't it go?" she whispered, holding up an arm to examine it. She had scoured herself clean, but in her mind she still had Nash's lifeblood between the cracks of her small scales and she would tear at her own skin until she thought it was gone.

Rerem carefully detached himself from her. Kneeling in front of her, he took out his vibroblade and slashed off a section of his shirt. Balling it up, it held it under the fine spray of water from the shower and then pressed it to Nyixa's skin. She watched through half-closed eyes as he gently cleaned her scaly arms, even though there was nothing left to clean.

"Just let it go," Rerem said softly. "It happened. Nash gave up his life so you could escape with those datafiles. You had no control over what happened to you. Let it go."

"Easier said then done."

Rerem gave her a small smile. He let the ball of cloth drop to the floor and made to stand up. Nyixa grabbed his hand.

"Thank you," she said.

Rerem caught her eye. The skin around it was slowly fading back to green.

"Don't mention it." He stood up and turned off the shower. He offered her his hand. "Shall we go?"

Nyixa clasped her hand around his and allowed him to help her up. "Yes," she said, letting go of his grasp so she could pull her hair back and knot it at the top of her head.

* * *

_**15 hours, 21 minutes.**_

Nyixa acted as if the incident in the locker room had never happened. With her skin tone returned to green, she had recovered her icy attitude and had locked away her memories of Nash's death, never to think about them again. With that decision, she had found new strength and was the one pushing the pace as they raced through the twisted corridors of the underground. She was fully committed to getting away from their pursuers and finding a way to send the wretched datafiles to the Alliance.

And so they ran, twisting their way through the labyrinth passages of the building, trying to find their way back up to where there was light. They couldn't keep running forever; they needed to find a safe place to rest, get some food and regroup. They weren't invincible and they would not last forever. It was very simple: two people with little remaining stamina could not face down a squad of Imperial agents, no matter how well they strategized. In most circumstances, numbers won the battle, and this would be one of those times if they were caught. They could only hope that if they were caught, Vader wasn't among the troops.

With his promise to hunt them down, that wasn't likely. Even if he wasn't there, the Imperial terror either would be waiting for them, or wouldn't be far behind his agents.

The facility with the lockers led into an underground maze of stairwells and corridors that climbed up. The elevators were all defunct, causing much cursing from both of them. Rerem needed to regain his bearings; he wasn't sure where he was in the district. But this was a commercial sector and if they were lucky, they might be able to highjack a speeder and find somewhere to hide out for a few hours. They were both exhausted to the point where their bodies could drop, but fear and anxiety pushed them on. Rerem was used to chasing people; he hadn't been on the hunted end of the line for a very long time. The adrenaline rush was soured completely by the fact that he would feel a blaster barrel between the eyes or, worse, a lightsaber in the chest if they stopped.

Up they went, flying along the stairwell. As they went higher, windows began to appear along the stairs, letting in the light. In their black clothing, both Rerem and Nyixa became dark shadows on the walls.

Rerem slowed and came to a halt, one hand on the banister. His sides were aching, the muscles in his legs refusing to work. "Do you think there's an elevator somewhere around here?"

Nyixa shrugged. "Maybe, but I don't see any exits from these stairs. It's not like we could get it working even if there was one."

Voices echoed down from somewhere above them. Rerem's head snapped back and he looked up the stairwell.

"Oh, kriff."

"What?"

"They're above us."

Nyixa ran her tongue over her lips as she looked down into the dark pit they had just ascended from. There were the echoes of footsteps marching upwards out of the depths. "I think they're below, too."

"Maybe it's both." Rerem forced himself to control his breathing; he was still panting from the exertion of running. He exchanged looks with Nyixa – if stormtroopers were coming at them from both directions, the probability of them getting out this alive was not good.

"Hell, they're persistent," Nyixa said. "Up we go, then." She moved past him, flinging herself up the stairs. Rerem stayed where he was; he was too tired to follow. "Aren't you coming?"

Rerem pulled out his blaster. "Yeah. One moment." He crossed the landing they were on and peered out the window. If he was lucky – if he was very, very lucky – there might just be a way for them to exit this stairwell without fighting their way past a squad of stormtroopers. He pressed himself against the window to see as far as he could in all directions. There was nothing they could utilize –

"Wait. Nyixa!"

She sped back down the steps and went to his side. "What do you see?"

"It depends on how high you can jump – and how strong your arms are."

She pursed her lips. "I think I can manage anything at this point – anything to get away from the busy sithspawn."

"Do you see the thing that's right above the window?"

"Yeah."

Rerem grinned. "That's our ticket out of here. Stand back."

"Rerem—!"

He shoved her aside, pointed his blaster and fired. The window blasted apart, shattering glass all over the landing. The sound reverberated up and down the stairwell, causing shouting above and below – and a rush of booted feet speeding toward them.

"Go!"

Rerem's grip tightened on his blaster as he backed against the broken window, his boots crunching on the glass. Nyixa flung herself onto its ledge and carefully straightened up so that she was standing outside, balancing on the window. Placing her hands on the outside of the building, she steadied herself just long enough to observe the deep drop to the world below if she should fall.

"If this doesn't work," she said, "promise me that you'll make it out of here, and not go via the window!"

"Nyixa, this is gonna work, trust me! I've done enough window escapes in my time—"

"Rerem!"

He glanced back at her. He was expecting one of her cold-eyed listen-to-me looks, but instead he saw a fleeting smile.

"Promise me," she said, her voice very low, very sensual.

Was he just imagining it? Or was she using her pheromones on him? Why would she bother to do that for such a small thing?

"Rerem!" she said sharply.

His voice caught in his throat. He couldn't speak, so he nodded.

Satisfied, Nyixa turned back to the operation at hand. She stared at her target, took a deep breath – and leapt. She shot off the window ledge and caught hold of the base of the catwalk that was perched above them. Rerem listened to her climb, blaster moving between the stairs leading up and the stairs leading down, waiting for any signs of their pursuers. The racket they were making on the metal stairs meant that they were approaching quickly.

_Clang. _

"Nyixa?" He dropped his defensive stance and threw himself partially out the window. Looking up, he saw Nyixa dangling from the catwalk above, her knuckles turned white from the effort of keeping herself from falling.

"I'm fine!" she called back, wincing from the pain in her arms. "My boot caught and I fell back."

"Can you make it up?"

"Just give me a second!" she snapped. Clenching her teeth, she redoubled her efforts. It was slow, excruciating work, but she managed to swing one leg over the edge of the catwalk; from there she pulled herself up and collapsed on her front, breathing heavily.

Rerem grinned. "Brilliant."

A blaster bolt flew into the wall by the window, narrowly missing his ear. Sparks from the blast's impact flew in his eyes as Rerem turned around and fired back up the stairs; a stormtrooper fell with a yelp, clattering down the steps in a heap. Stowing his blaster away, Rerem hurriedly balanced himself on the window ledge, preparing himself to do the same feat that Nyixa had just done.

Nyixa's expression was reddening with worry. She peered over the ledge at Rerem, and disappeared. A moment later, she threw something long and thin down to him. He pressed a hand against the outside wall to steady himself and caught it with the other.

"A cable?"

"Oh, shut up and just use it!" Nyixa shouted, securing the cable at her end.

Rerem looped it around himself for support and leapt, catching hold of the base of the catwalk. The muscles in his arms protested fiercely, and he gasped out with pain. Below, blaster bolts shot through the window. Rerem dangled in the air, making sure to keep his feet out of harms way while Nyixa searched for the control mechanisms, cursing loudly.

Rerem tried to swing himself up, but one foot got caught in the wrong place and fell free. He tumbled back, his weight threatening to drag him down. His arms trembled with the effort of hanging on. With his limbs painfully protesting, he knew he would let go any moment, try though he might to hold on.

"Just give me one more kriffing second!" Nyixa yelled. "Don't you go trying anything! Ah!" She found what she was looking for and slammed her hand down on the control mechanism.

Rerem flew upwards and banged into the catwalk. He yelped with pain. Nyixa shut off the controls and rushed to release him from the cable.

"Are you all right?" she asked, helping him up.

"No," he snapped. "Sure. Whatever." He looked down – the cable had sliced through his clothing and cut into his skin. It wasn't a deep or dangerous injury, but it stung badly. Rerem stumbled away, one hand pressed to his side, and made his way across the catwalk. It trembled and swayed in the night wind and from the their combined weight. From the looks of it, it had been constructed in an attempt to renovate the building, but had been abandoned several years ago. They could only hope that it wouldn't collapse on them.

Out of the shattered window behind them, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers discussing where to go.

Rerem glanced at Nyixa. "That was lucky. Thank you."

"Lucky you saw this thing in the first place."

"Lucky you found the cable."

"Lucky this thing hasn't collapsed yet," Nyixa said coolly.

They stared at each other, their lips twitching, daring each other to be the person who laughed first. Rerem looked away.

"Luck's what keeps all of us alive these days," he said and clambered over the old construction support system without further word. It lead far across the building and headed up several flights towards a newer building. If he squinted, Rerem could see launch pads glittering on the sides of the new building. That was their target.

Though they knew the squads couldn't be too far behind, they heard no more from their hunters. By the time Rerem and Nyixa reached the new building, they assumed that the Imperials were still running up and down staircases, trying to find a way to the outside of the building. Sometimes numbers were a disadvantage; it made manoeuvring much more difficult.

There was a small gap between the last catwalk and the side of the new building. Rerem shattered a window with his blaster, setting of alarms in the process, and he and Nyixa made the leap across a two foot gap that plummeted down, down, down into Coruscant's deep pit.

Neither of them looked down as they jumped.

The building appeared to be an office for some small-time corporation Rerem had never heard of. There was a grand total of one worker in the room when he blasted the window – a pale pink-haired human woman drinking copious amounts of stimcaf to stay awake. She shrieked when the window broke and shattered glass all over her office floor. She screamed even louder when two humanoids leapt through and ran for the exit, one of them stealing her stimcaf right out of her hand.

Rerem needed the burst of energy stimcaf temporarily provided. He could feel his eyes fighting to close. As he glanced at the time on the chrono in the corridor outside, he realized that he had more or less been awake for over twenty-four hours straight, and most of that time had been spent being chased.

Alarms wailed in the building, but their security was slow. Rerem and Nyixa charged into the elevator. If this corporation had really been high-class, then their elevator systems would have stopped working.

This one worked.

"Lucky again," Rerem muttered under his breath. He leaned against the elevator wall as they zoomed upwards. They didn't have to take the stairs.

The doors burst open and they tumbled out onto a launch pad. There were several speeders kept there, all of a medium-class, nothing too expensive. They could hear shouts and blaster fire as they clambered into the closest one and sealed themselves inside the cockpit. The shouts seemed very distant to Rerem; he didn't feel like he should worry about some low-class security guys from a kriffed up security system that thankfully didn't have the decency to shut down its elevator system when the alarms went off. He vaguely registered that it was probably strange to be complaining about their lack of effectiveness.

The speeder also had a spare set of keys hidden away in a compartment. They were lucky again.

Nyixa was flying; Rerem was too exhausted now to think straight, or to keep his eyes on the traffic ways. After the disaster of their last flying episode, he didn't really want to fly. Their speeder zoomed off into the night, leaving behind some very exasperated security guards.

"Dumb luck," he murmured, leaning his head against the glass. "A survivor's best friend. I swear we should've died tonight."

"Don't push it," Nyixa warned. "I don't want this luck to end right now. I'm more than happy to let it continue saving our hides."

"Hm." Rerem rubbed his forehead. "Nyixa, where are you flying?"

"In circles – _where do you think I'm flying?"_

"Kriff, okay, okay." He groaned as he felt the sting of the wound in his side. "We need to get back to the lower levels."

Nyixa stiffened. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Okay." She forcibly relaxed her hands on the controls. "Please tell me you want a different sector, at least. Possibly one _very far from here._"

"I am."

"Good. Where?"

"The Crimson Corridor. I have a favour to pick with an old friend."

Nyixa let out an exasperated sigh. "You don't want to go see Marxes, do you?"

"I do. He's not that bad, he has no love for the poisoners. He could help us—"

"He shot you last time."

"So?"

Nyixa's grip tightened on the controls. "Let me repeat this for you," she said. _"He shot you last time._ Do you really want to trust him?"

"We've got no choice," Rerem said.

"Why can't we go to Dreis?"

"That's the very last thing we can do. I tried alerting him earlier, but I couldn't. My guess is that he knows what's going on, what with Seline and Koss' murders all over the HoloNet. We are _not_ leading Vader and other noxious poison to one of our most important Intel agents on the planet." He paused. "If we can cut a deal with Marxes, he can get us off planet before the poisoners know where we've gotten to. He's our best shot – pun not intended."

Nyixa glared at him, unimpressed, but she changed their flight path. "I hate the schutta."

"So do I. Well… yeah, I hate him, he's a rotten sithspawn, but like I said, we've got not choice."

"I could slap you right now."

"Won't work." Rerem smiled grimly. "I've had all my sense knocked out of me already."

"I had _no_ idea. By the way, I want my datapad back."

Rerem yawned and tossed the little black object to her. "I'm knackered."

"You can sleep in the speeder, you know."

"Don't think that didn't occur to me."

And sleep he did – but not for long.


	4. Deals Sealed

_**14 hours, 7 minutes. **_

The cantina did not look very threatening. If not for its location in the Crimson Corridor, it could have probably been considered a normal, dull cantina. However, because of its location, Rerem thought that Marxes could have done more to keep the place looking a bit formidable, or clean, or classy or whatever passed to make a place look Coruscanti. But the dim lights, brown leathers and persistent stale stench of Marxes' favourite hide-out obtusely insisted making it seem like some Outer-Rim tavern rather than a thuggish smuggling lord's base of operations.

It just proved that some things stayed the same.

Rerem and Nyixa walked through the front door. The cantina was not particularly busy and though no one looked in their direction, Rerem could sense the eyes of Marxes' cohorts on his back as they went to the bar to order drinks and food. The bartender took them without question; his eyes didn't even linger on their torn and bloodied clothes as he passed them their drinks.

They wandered over to a booth with frayed leather upholstery and sat down. Rerem partially drained his tankard with one gulp and attacked his food; he was ravished.

Nyixa didn't say a word. She sat with her hand resting on her blaster, refusing to touch her drink as her eyes scanned the vicinity. "I don't like this place," she said.

Rerem leaned back in his seat and took a drink. "I wouldn't expect you to."

"It's…" Her nostrils flared. "Filthy."

"You might not want to hear Marxes hear you say that. He takes great pride in maintaining filthiness."

"I strongly dislike your friends, Rerem."

"You're not required to."

Nyixa rammed her fingernails into the top of the table. "You just better hope you're not getting us into more trouble," she hissed.

Rerem shrugged and continued stuffed food into his mouth. "Ar' 'oo g'na eet?" he asked.

Nyixa fixed him with a cold look and didn't answer.

Rerem swallowed. "Suit yourself. Just don't blame me when you start starving."

Nyixa glared at him and gingerly picked up a fork. She stabbed at her food half-heartedly, but slowly began to eat despite her reservations.

"So, I hear you don't like my cantina," a silky male voice said.

Rerem froze as he felt the blaster at the back of his head. Nyixa lowered her fork and stared at the person leaning over the booth behind him.

"Falleen require a little more class than this dump can offer," she said coolly.

The blaster clicked. "You might want to show a little more respect, Nyixa, or else I'll have your friend's brains splattered all over you in an instance."

Nyixa shrugged and turned back to her food. "Go ahead. I can move faster without him."

The male voice began to laugh. "Fine girl you got there, Anaro. Been a while since I've seen her around."

The blaster disappeared and returned to its holster with a sliding sound. Rerem smiled shortly, but didn't turn around.

"Nice to see you again, Marxes."

Marxes strolled around to their table. He didn't bother to pull up a chair, choosing to stand with his blue hands pressed into the table edges. His dark eyes only briefly glanced at Rerem, his gaze preferring to stare at Nyixa. Rerem took a swig of his drink, wondering how this was going to pan out. It was always a risk whenever he showed up at Marxes' door. The thug was a small-timer, hardly dangerous when considered against the elite crime organizations of the galaxy, but his inflated ego made him more than a little deadly when you were face to face with him. Marxes didn't take insults lightly, but sometimes his vices drowned out his ego.

"So," Marxes said, his eyes raking over Nyixa. "What can I do for you this time?"

Marxes was a thief and the leader of a smuggling ring. He had no love for the Empire, just as the Empire would greatly prefer that he didn't exist. Marxes was an affront to the Emperor, and not because of his smuggling trade. He was a part-human hybrid, the off-shoot of parents who, in the Emperor's xenophobic eyes, blasted apart all laws and conventions. He represented something to the alien community that the Empire hated, and as Marxes could be quite pleasing and charismatic when he wanted, he had managed to rally a good deal of very angry persecuted aliens to his side and convince them to aggravate the hell out of the Imperials in any way they could.

"I'll cut right to the point, Marxes," Rerem said.

"Oooh, straight-faced honesty," Marxes said. He licked his lips. "How… refreshing."

The meat on Nyixa's plate squelched as she stabbed her fork into it.

"We need passage off-planet."

"And why do you think I can do that?" Marxes cocked his head. "You two look like an awful mess, I doubt you've managed to see the HoloNet in a while." His eyes narrowed as his gaze roved over Nyixa's rumpled and ripped clothing. "You know," he said, "I have some spares I can give you," he said.

Nyixa continued eating, acting as if the smuggling thug didn't exist.

"What are the Imps broadcasting now?" Rerem snapped.

Marxes shrugged. "Only that there's been two more murders in the same style as the first one. I recognized your buddies right away. Tch tch. You need to keep a better handle on your underlings, Anaro, letting them get away like that. I don't think anyone could trust you after this." He raised one of his stubby blue hands, gnawing on the grimy yellow ring he kept on his left index finger.

"My colleagues have been murdered, Marxes," Rerem said coldly.

"So?" Marxes' eyes were for Nyixa only. Rerem couldn't help but wonder when his partner was going to snap on the grubby little ruffian. "What do I care about your _colleagues?"_ He drew out the word, adding a little lisp to his speech as he continued to toy with his ring. "I'm sure you know what's going on here, Rerem. You see, you just happened to walk into my cantina. I make the rules here. Now, it's unfortunate that you just _happen_ to have some very angry Imperials on your tail, ones who will stop at nothing to track you down. Now, I imagine the reason that they're picking you off one by one is that you have something _very important_ on your person right now." He snapped his fingers and looked at Rerem for the first time.

Rerem had forgotten how well Marxes was good at sneering and he recalled how much he hated negotiating with this puffed up rogue.

"I want intel, Anaro," Marxes said. "You have it – give it to me. I'll let you live as compensation. Hell, I'll even throw in some off-world transport while I'm at it, and that's what you asked me for, right? Off-world transport?" He leaned across the table, a white eyebrow raised. "Throw in a little extra compensation and we've got a deal."

"Oh please," Nyixa said, lowering her fork. She smiled, armed to the teeth with venomous charm. "Two-timing blue guys aren't on my schedule."

Marxes stepped back and spread his hands, flexing his bare arms as if he was trying to entice her. "Blues are all the rage these days, green girl," he said.

Nyixa's eyes flashed dangerously. Marxes unknowingly quoting Koss' favourite nickname for her was breaking through her already weakened ice barriers.

"I'm afraid that puts us in a bit of an issue," Rerem said quickly, trying to draw Marxes' attention away from Nyixa before she snapped. "We can't give you any intel on the basis that we don't know what it is."

Marxes howled with laughter, shaking his long white hair. He slipped onto the seat beside Nyixa, putting his false gem-encrusted boots on the table. "Don't be a simpleton, Anaro, it's embarrassing talking to you."

Nyixa muttered something in Falleen under her breath, her tone harsh and guttural. Marxes didn't notice.

"You've got a whopping bounty on both your heads," Marxes said, snickering. "So either hand over whatever it is you've taken from the bloody Imps, or I'll give you to them with your heads on a platter."

"Is that so?" Rerem grunted. He wasn't surprised at the Empire putting a price on them; they were effectively making it difficult for them to move around. He just hoped the bounty really was sizeable, as Marxes implied. He felt a strange tinge of pride at being worth quite a bit.

He took a drink, his eyes quickly scanning the vicinity. Every person dining in the cantina was now observing the conversation. They were all Marxes' men; he could see the glint of blasters and vibroblades in the darkness under their tables. One wrong move and he and Nyixa would be dead even before the Empire could hunt them down.

This bounty made things a lot more difficult. Marxes would jump at any chance to get a load of money, no matter who it was coming from.

"If this bounty is as big as you say it is," he said, "I'm surprised that you haven't killed us both already."

"Old friends don't kill old friends, Anaro," Marxes said, "at least without a very good reason." He took a tankard from the serving girl who appeared beside him. Toasting Rerem, he threw his head back to gulp down a mouthful. Burping, Marxes wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the tankard down. "Besides, green girl here would look terrible without her lovely head."

Rerem glanced at Nyixa, wondering if she would snap at that latest comment, but she simply shook her head. The motion was miniscule, but there was a slight twist to her upper lip. Understanding washed over him, and he leaned back, trying not to interfere with the escape Nyixa was working on setting up should they need it.

"I thought old friends were supposed to help old friends," Rerem said casually. "Or is that bounty looking really shiny to you right now?"

"I'm not one to ignore the gleam in my eye," Marxes replied, spreading his hands. "I'm an earthly sort of fellow, just wanting the simple things in life. Nice boots, by the way," he said, nodding to Rerem's red leather footwear. "This doesn't have to get complicated, buddy."

"Complications are somewhat detrimental to your health, yes," Rerem said bitingly, a bit irritated at the off-hand comment about the boots.

"Too right," Marxes agreed. He raised en eyebrow as he noted Rerem's tone. "I seem to remember shooting you the last time things got complicated. How'd that work out for you?"

"I got better. But you gave me one nasty scar."

"I imagine you're hoping to avoid getting another one, yes?"

"In general, yeah."

"Then how about to slide over that intel you stole from them Imps and I'll let my people remove you as a target for blaster practice." Marxes' fingers drummed on the side of the table.

"Ah, well…" Rerem cocked his head. "There's some problems to that. You see, all that intel is encrypted, so no one can read it unless they get past the codes first."

"Codes are made to be broken."

"Not these ones. So it really isn't worth your while."

"Hmm." Marxes drained his drink. "Well, Rerem, this really isn't getting us anywhere and I'm getting bored. The way I see it, you two better make your decision quick."

"You know what we'll decide, so why don't you just shoot us?"

"I can," Marxes shot back. "I will. Just not now. There's no point in rushing into that nasty business."

"Never bothered you in the past."

"Yeah, well…" He shrugged and glanced at Nyixa again. She raised an eyebrow. It took Marxes a while to realize that he was staring openly at her and that he had lost his train of thought. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he said, "I've decided to give you a little bit longer. Maybe…" He eyed Nyixa again. "…maybe quite a bit longer."

Nyixa smiled, brushing a hand through her long hair.

"Marxes." One of his cronies – a dark haired human – had come up behind him and was shaking his shoulder. "Marxes!"

"Not now, Colchis!" Marxes snapped. He turned on his underling and threw his tankard at him. "And aren't you suppose to call me 'sir'?"

Rerem snorted.

Colchis ignored his boss' comment. "Marxes, that Falleen girl's made you lose your senses. Just shoot them and be done with it."

"So?" Marxes snapped. "She is a gorgeous piece of work and—" His eyes brightened as realization dawned on him. Nyixa smiled at him again and he blinked, the understanding slipping away as she solidified her hold over him. Marxes sidled toward her along the booth seat.

"Kriffing idiot," Colchis swore. He pulled out his blaster.

Rerem dove forwards, knocking his empty plate on to the floor with a crash. He was lucky that there was not much of a gap between him and Marxes' cronies; his hands locked around the barrel of the blaster and he pulled at it just as Colchis pressed the trigger. A red bolt shot into the wall, narrowly missing Rerem's face.

Nyixa jumped to her feet, her knife and fork still in her hand. She plunged them into Marxes' shoulders and pushed him backwards. Marxes fell with a yelp, tearing at the brass instruments sticking out of his skin, and crashed to the floor. Leaping over the little man, Nyixa drew her blaster and fired. Red mist sprayed Rerem's face as Colchis collapsed at his feet.

The cantina's occupants – all Marxes' cronies – rose to their feet, blasters drawn and vibroblades raised. Nyixa backed against Rerem, who had also drawn his weapon.

"So much for negotiations," she muttered. "Now we have to fight _them_ as well as the poisoners?"

"Not fight," Rerem said, keeping his eye on their enemies, trying to guess which one would move first. "Hit and run is more like it."

He fired at the closest man, a dark-skinned Twi'lek. He didn't see if he had hit his target, but he heard the Twi'lek cry out just as Nyixa hit him from behind with the full force of her weight and dragged him down behind the protection of the tables separating them from the rest of the cantina.

"_Kriff, you need to stop doing that!" _

"_What? Saving you from getting your head blown off?"_

Shards of plaster and material flew everywhere as the members of Marxes' gang sent a barrage of blaster fire in their direction. Rerem and Nyixa scuttled along the floor, keeping low as they tried to make their way around to an exit. It was impossible to get to the door they had come in, but Rerem could see a narrow passage leading up a flight of stairs. He didn't know where it led, but it was their best chance.

Nudging Nyixa, he cocked his head in the direction of the stairs and aimed a returning shot at their assailants. The table and set of chairs in front of them blew up in their faces. Rerem flew back, covering his face as bits and pieces of material hailed down on him. He felt something at the back of his neck; Nyixa dragged him to his feet and they somehow managed to pelt themselves backwards and up the steps.

The staircase was narrow. As Marxes' gang followed, they bottlenecked, which made them easier to shoot at. Blaster fire scorched the walls of the staircase as Rerem and Nyixa catapulted themselves upwards. A haze began to form, making it difficult to see and breathe. When they reached the top of the stairs, they found themselves in a long, wide corridor whose only source of light was provided by the far wall – a ceiling-to-floor line of windows that let in the brightening light of a new day. Rerem and Nyixa separated, slamming into the doors at the opposite ends of the hall and finding them both jammed.

"How about that?" Nyixa said, pointing to the window.

She disappeared momentarily, ducking beneath a blaster bolt. It hit the window, shattering it. Glass burst forwards, showering them with little pieces. Rerem winced as he felt the prickle of glass piercing his skin. Blood streamed down his face, neck and hands – anything that was exposed. The force of the glass shower caused him to back-peddle side-ways until he slammed into the floor some feet from the window.

"That's enough!" Marxes' silky voice rose out of the cloud of blaster fire and the roar of blaster bolts ceased. The little blue man appeared at the top of the stairs, a small, sleek pistol in one hand and a detonator in the other. "Now, if either of you move, I'll press this button here and we all go up in flames together. Then I'm _sure_ your beautiful Alliance won't get your precious stolen Imperial goods." As he approached, they could see that there were large holes ripped at the top of his shirt where he had torn out the utensils Nyixa had stabbed him with. There were no blood stains on his clothes.

Nyixa stared at him, ignoring the droplets of green blood that now dotted her exposed skin. "What?"

"Nice try, love," Marxes said coldly, "but I am not going down by way of _kitchen_ utensils. How utterly rubbish. You may be gorgeous as hell, but your class is untasteful."

Nyixa's jaw clenched and her smouldering eyes glared at the smuggling lord. "Body armour," she said.

"Absolutely," he replied. "But I won't deny that it hurt, no thanks to you. Decent arm you've got there, Nyixa."

Members of the gang flooded into the room, keeping their blasters on their cornered adversaries. Marxes stood several feet away from Rerem, a little smile playing across his lips as he watched the Rebel agent trying to see a way out of this mess.

"Now, let's get down to business," he said, walking back and forth, tossing the detonator loosely in his hand. "I spy with my little eye, something that begins with…" Marxes paused, his gaze settling on Nyixa. "…N."

"Negotiation," Nyixa said sharply.

Rerem got to his feet.

"Exactly, exactly," Marxes said, the thrill of excitement in his voice. He turned back to Rerem. "How observant your friend is, Rerem, I do very much like her. I have for a very long time, ever since that curious little meeting we had when she first started working for you." He chuckled. "I wonder how your partnership has gone since then. She sounds a trifle unsatisfied, don't you think?"

"Stop crowing and get to the point," Nyixa snapped.

Marxes strode over her, his grip tightening on the detonator. "You should think more of the consequences from using your powers over pheromones," he said. "You have piqued my interested and filled me with insatiable lust. I will have you."

"No, you won't. You are filthy and weak. I could kill you before you got close, Marxes."

Marxes bristled at her sneering comment. He prowled in front of her, waving the detonator, his men keeping Nyixa in their line of fire. She listened impassively to his long stream of expletives.

Rerem quietly took the opportunity to peer out the window as much as his peripheral vision would allow. If he was lucky, they might be able to make an escape out of it, but he wasn't sure. He couldn't see well enough.

He edged towards the window.

Marxes must have seen him out of his peripheral vision. The thug swung his pistol around and fired. The shot brushed by Rerem's ear.

"That was a warning," Marxes said, keeping his arm steady. His eyes glinted in the low light. "The next one won't miss. No self-defenestrations on my watch, Anaro. You have an uncanny ability to use the fall to your advantage." He nodded at one of his cronies, a burly female Bothan, who strode over and wrestled Rerem's weapons from his grasp. Across the room, he saw the same happen to Nyixa, except she didn't struggle and gave up her weapons freely with nothing but an icy look in her eye.

"Now," Marxes said, keeping a close eye on both his captives, "I'm starting to get tired of this. Why don't I kill you right now and go collect my reward? As much as I dislike the Empire, this is one of the situations where they can help me _backstab_ them." He chortled.

"Do you really think that's going to work, Marxes?" Rerem said. The Bothan's grip on him was tight, but not tight enough. If he just waited for the right moment, he could free himself. "Darth Vader killed two of our partners, possibly a third. He's on our trail and likely coming here—"

Marxes guffawed. "Vader? Come after you? Please, why would the Emperor's right-hand be interested in spy scum like you? The normal authorities can busy themselves catching you. Why, even _I've_ done what they can't do." He paused. "Unless…" His tone brightened with interest. "Unless that intel your team snatched up is so important to them they just can't live with themselves letting you get away with it. Ha!" He broke down, howling with laughter. "I can't get enough! I've cornered you, so even if Vader shows up here, I can just hand you over to him! This is brilliant!"

"Why would you want to do that?" Nyixa called. "Vader might as well slaughter the likes of you; he knows you're no asset to the Empire."

Marxes' laughter ceased. "All right," he said, his voice trembling with anger. "All right. This, lady and gentleman, this is how it's going to work. You are going to hand me the datafiles, Nyixa and I are going to have some quality time and when I'm sure you're not going to bother me anymore, Anaro, I'll let you go and the Imperials can catch you without any help from me."

"Marxes, you are the most arbitrary man I have ever had the misfortune to meet," Nyixa said.

Marxes rounded on her. "Pardon me?"

"You don't have the _guts_ to kill us, so it's all talk. Back and forth, back and forth, jabber, jabber, jabber. No wonder you're so petty."

"Petty?" Marxes snapped, taking a step towards her.

Rerem watched the exchange, waiting. The concealed weapons that he kept strapped to his back never seemed more noticeable. He waited, keeping his eyes on Nyixa.

"Yes, petty!" Nyixa spat. "Look at your boots – those are all false gems, aren't they? They think they make you look rich, but to anyone with half a brain they can tell that they're fake. Most of them don't even shine and whoever heard of putting gems in their boots?"

Marxes snarled at her, his words lost somewhere in his throat.

"And your ring," Nyixa continued, "is just about the ugliest thing I have ever seen, yet you wear it as if it were a crown jewel of some royal family. Your men are pathetic losers who join you simply because they're mad at the world they live in."

"Shut up!"

"Mad at the way the Empire treats alien species," Nyixa continued relentlessly, "vengeance giving power. Vengeance fizzles out in time. They're weak cronies who support a weak leader. No wonder you're at the bottom of the smuggling chains here. Poor King Marxes, trampled over by everyone else who has actual brains to apply in tricking the enemy."

"SHUT UP!"

"Why should I?" Nyixa spat. "I'm Falleen, I've felt the Empire's hate and I've taken matters into my own hands and fought back. I spit on people like you, who sit around and _pretend."_

"SPIT ON THIS!"

Marxes threw himself at her, riled to a point way past enragement. He clawed at Nyixa bare-handed, but she fought back, even against the man who restrained her. She spat green blood when one of Marxes' blows tore at her bottom lip, simultaneously lashing out at Marxes with her feet and jabbing her guard in the gut with her elbow. He grunted and let her go.

Rerem took the chaotic moment to take his Bothan guard by surprise. Years of working with Nash had taught him weak spots in Bothan physiology, and the woman went down surprisingly easily. Rerem flew across the corridor just as Nyixa tore the detonator from Marxes' hand. Marxes clawed at her, but she shoved him in Rerem's direction and chucked the detonator out the broken window. It fell down into the dark pits of the lower levels. When it exploded, fire briefly flew up the sides of the buildings and dispersed.

Marxes couldn't stop himself from toppling into Rerem. The smuggler doubled over in pain as Rerem locked his arms around his neck in a headlock, simultaneously pulling out a tiny, slim needle and jabbed it into the exposed flesh of Marxes' neck. He yelped with pain.

Nyixa back-pedalled to stand beside him, a small pistol now in her hand. She aimed at Marxes' cronies, her stance almost daring them to risk shooting their boss.

Marxes was sweating. "Oi, Anaro, what did you—"

"It's very simple," Rerem said, tightening his grip on his captive. He addressed Marxes' men, who looked like they were silently considering shooting their boss in the process of getting an Imperial prize. "If you want Marxes alive – and I would understand why if you didn't—"

Marxes grunted and swore, but he was soon overcome by gasping for air. He struggled against Rerem's hold, but that only made things more painful for him.

"—then you will put down your weapons and follow my orders," Rerem continued. "Put down your weapons." He shook his captive roughly. Marxes yelped.

The gang hesitated, but didn't withdraw their blasters.

"Put them down!" Rerem shouted. Against his grip, Marxes sniffled and struggled, but couldn't break free. He was sweating profusely.

Nyixa's finger tightened on her pistol's trigger.

Slowly, the criminals dropped their blasters and kicked them out of reach.

"That's better," Rerem said. "Now." He looked down at the weakly struggling Marxes, distaste in his eyes. "I've given you a little dose of a very rare poison. If you don't do what I ask, then you will die from it within twenty-four hours. If you do, then I'll give you the antidote."

"Whatever you want, Anaro!" Marxes panted.

"Nyixa and I need passage off-planet in one of your smuggling ships – right now. You'll give us that passage and you won't try to turn us over to the Imperials."

Marxes floundered. "Ah… eh… well… there's a slight problem—"

"Do you want to die?"

Marxes choked. "No, no, no, I—"

"Then get us off Coruscant."

"My ships are all gone!" Marxes shouted. He was gasping for breath. "They won't be back for another twelve hours, you've got to believe me—"

Rerem's grasp didn't loosen. "How can I believe you?"

"Check… the docking bay yourself! No ships! I'm sorry!" Marxes squirmed. His skin was loosing its blue colour. "Give me the antidote!"

"Oh, really, that is pathetic," Nyixa said.

"What do you say?" Rerem asked Marxes' cronies, ignoring their squirming leader's yelps. "Would you like him to stay alive or not?"

"He does cause more problems than he's worth," the female Bothan mused.

Marxes yelped. "Aaven!"

"But it would be a little inconvenient to let him die right now. I'll think about it."

"Aaven!" Marxes shouted.

"You have twelve hours to think about it," Rerem said. "We'll be back, ready to be put on one of your smuggling ships. If you're still hesitant about it, then Marxes dies."

"Understood," the Bothan, Aaven, replied. Her eyes glittered, shooting Marxes' captors an indecipherable look. For a split second, Rerem was hit déjà-vu. There was something familiar about this Bothan, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Nyixa was hissing at him to go. Ignoring his stumped recall, Rerem pulled Marxes with him as he moved toward the stairs. He carefully backed down the steps, Nyixa in front of him, her blaster kept on Marxes' gang. They made their way slowly back across the cantina and out the way they came. Only when they were sure Marxes' cronies weren't going to shoot, Rerem threw the snivelling thug down on the floor and he and Nyixa departed.


	5. An Inconvenient Visitor

_**11 hours, 38 minutes.**_

They crashed at a lodge not far away, exhaustion and pain overcoming them at last. The place was low-class – it could hardly be considered in the league of even the most meagre hotels – and was one of many lower level buildings that was decrepit and in desperate need of repair. There were a few others in the building, but they paid Rerem and Nyixa no heed. Concerned about Marxes' words of the bounty on their head, Nyixa had temporarily forced herself to change her skin tone to red in an attempt at a quick disguise – the authorities were most likely looking for a green-skinned woman. Rerem did not have such easy access to quick changes of appearance, but he was nondescript enough in his looks – there were thousands of men in the Imperial City who shared his description of dark hair and swarthy skin.

The state of their clothing and the small wounds lacerating their bodies were a bit more conspicuous, but these were the lower levels and there was a reputation about the area its residents upheld. No one asked questions when you showed up seeking lodging looking less than spotless.

Once in their room, Rerem wished sleep was his first priority, but the scuffle in Marxes' cantina had left him with injuries to clean up. The pieces of debris that had lodged themselves in his skin were tiny pinpricks and had not penetrated deep; however, like even the smallest splinter, they needed to be removed. He sat on the grubby bed, a med kit at his side, carefully extracting the debris.

Nyixa was in a similar condition to him, so after scouting their surroundings, she sat down beside him and took to tending her own wounds.

"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you to poison Marxes," she said.

"It was the easiest way to hold the scum hostage without actually being present," Rerem said, concentrating on removing a splinter from his arm. "It's a little difficult to keep tabs on someone and sleep at the same time. Marxes is so afraid of dying that it can be used against him. We have a way off-planet and we can have time to recuperate without having to keep an eye on him."

"You don't think they'll find out what the poison is?"

"No. It's rare enough that even if they do figure out what it is, they won't be able to get their hands on the antidote fast enough."

"And you have the antidote, do you?"

"Maybe." He grinned slyly at her. "I worked with a certain intelligent scumbag for a while, back in my teens. He knew a thing or two about venoms and poison – even managed to manufacture a few himself. Blasters and vibroblades aren't the only weapons out there. I know enough to put certain toxins to good use now and then."

"Hm." Nyixa was barely paying attention. She had pulled out the little black datapad and weighed it in her palm, her eyes boring into the blank screen. "I wonder," she murmured.

"What?"

Her fingers brushed the edges of the keypad. "We're being hunted down for what's contained here," she said. "Nash and I got it out of Seline's hiding place easily enough, but we never had time to decode the encryption she put on them. I know Seline's way with codes, it would be pretty easy to slice… I wish I knew what was in here."

"Why?" Rerem took the datapad from her. He held it between his fingers, turning it over.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Rerem didn't answer and continued to stare at the thing. What could be worth their lives? What would cause the Empire to hunt them? There were hundreds of answers to that. Gods knew that any spy was a bad spy and the Empire would stop at nothing to make sure that no information, no matter how trivial, would not make its way back to the Alliance. At the end of the day, this intel was no different than any other they had collected. The Imperials didn't want them running away with this it.

But to drag Vader into it brought it to a whole new level – didn't it?

What was Nyixa holding in her hands? The key to some Imperial weak spot? A revelation of a new Imperial menace?

Whatever it was, it was just information. Data. Such a small thing, but information was the weapon that could change the lives of trillions of people across the galaxy. It didn't matter now – whether or not they knew what was contained in that small slab of electronics, they would be hunted to the edge of the Outer-Rim until either they reached the Alliance or the Empire caught them.

He handed the datapad back. "I don't want to know."

"Why?" she asked.

"Some things are better left not knowing."

Nyixa's fingers drifted over the keys. Her bottom lip twitched. "Don't you want to know why you're risking your life?"

"Not particularly."

Her eyes narrowed. "Please don't tell me that's because it would ruin the mystique or something."

He chortled. "Now when you come to think of it—"

"Rerem! I was being serious."

His smile faded. "So was I."

"So?" Nyixa persisted, setting the datapad beside her.

Rerem rubbed a hand across his jaw. "It's a job. I used to be a mercenary, Nyixa, on the Outer-Rim. I got hired, I did the job, I got paid. I didn't care what my target was. I wasn't the least bit curious because it didn't matter. My client's interests were below me. Look at it this way – it didn't matter if I knew the contents of the strongbox I was retrieving, as long as I got it to them, I got paid. I did what they asked me to do, I did it, and that was all."

"Is that all the Alliance is to you? Some client that hires you out?" She sounded disgusted. "If that's what you're after, you could make a hell of a lot more money working for the Empire—"

"This is different," he snapped. "Sithspit, Nyixa, I was just using the mercenary jobs as an analogy."

"Pretty poor one at that," she spat back. "If that's how you view this… this _job_ of ours, then it's no wonder you land yourself into so much trouble all the time."

"I do not!"

"Count all of your criminal friends who have never given us one ounce of poison intel and then get back to me."

Rerem leapt to his feet and angrily started packing up the med kit.

"I'm not done with that," Nyixa said, grabbing his hand to take back a handful of bandages. He threw the bandages at her and stalked across the room. "You have no motivation whatsoever, Rerem," she continued, tearing at the packaging on a fresh bandage. "Ask anyone else in this organization why they do what they do and they'll tell you in the blink of an eye. But you—"

He slammed a fist against the wall. "It's a lot more complicated than that."

"Why? Is it because you never take the simple route?"

"No," he said, rounding on her. "The simple route would be to ignore this entire mess _completely."_

"Oh, do explain," she hissed.

"Look," he said. "Most people who join the Rebellion all have the same answer. They're doing it because they want justice, they want peace, they want equality. They have idealistic views for a utopian society without the Empire's regime. Or they want revenge against what those kriffing Imperials have got up to—"

"You say that as though it were a bad thing," Nyixa said. She finished tying her last bandage and slammed the med kit closed.

Rerem glared at her. "You want vengeance against Vader for that raze of your planet he ordered. Fine by me. That's your motivation."

Nyixa stood up. "YES! It is the _only kriffing reason _I joined Father in the first place! _No _Falleen wants to get involved – oh, don't look at me like that, Rerem! You know full well it's about time someone from that noxious sithspawned _government_ answers for what they did—"

"Do I look like I'm condemning you for your reasons?"

"Maybe!" she shouted.

"I'm not! I don't give a bloody damn about anyone's—"

"But what I don't understand," Nyixa continued, "is why _you're_ here doing what you do for no apparent reason!"

"And why should you be concerning yourself with that?" Rerem shot back. "I'm a thief, Nyixa, damn it. I'm a thief, a spy, a smuggler, a convict. I'm from Marxes' crowd. I've been stealing since I was a kid, I was shunted out into the great wide galaxy before I hit my teens. That sort of thing plays havoc with your sense of good and evil, or whatever the hell most Rebellion people like to call it."

"Oh, so now you're saying that you really have no sense of morality. Good for you."

"I don't believe in good and evil," Rerem said. "At least, not any of that pre-destined mystic kriff you pick off a pack of Jedi wannabes. There might not be any good and evil, but there are clear divisions between right and wrong. The galaxy's been at war with itself for so long that it's time to give it a hand because that's the right thing to do. Just so happens that my views line up with the Rebellion. It's a hopeless case, in my opinion, but it's the right thing to do and I'll be damned if I don't try to help dig out a galaxy I'm rather fond of and don't want to see go completely to the Banthas."

"'It's the right thing to do'? That's sithspit."

"A little less sithspit than the idiots who spin out messages on hope."

She cocked her head. "Maybe. I just never thought I'd hear something so kriffing _naïve_ come out of your mouth, Rerem Anaro."

"Thank you?"

"Maybe in a couple of hours you'll start regretting your move from criminal to Mr. It's the Right Thing To Do," Nyixa spat.

"Maybe," he yelled, "but at least I'm not on some fruitless vengeance vendetta that won't even come true because we know that you can't win against Vader!"

They were standing face-to-face now, so close they were almost breathing down each other's necks. They stared at each other for a moment, both unaware of why they were so angry and why they were inexplicably taking it out on each other. Nyixa's skin had turned an angry red, Rerem was flushed in the face and both had extinguished their supply of comprehensible words. The events of the past hours flew by in Rerem's mind; he knew he and Nyixa were sharing the same gut-wrenching feeling of desperation that had crept up on them ever since they realized they were the last ones standing and Vader would be knocking on the door.

"We probably shouldn't be so loud," Nyixa said, her voice hushed.

"Yeah," Rerem breathed. "Neighbours might hear."

Nyixa was standing very, very close to him. He could suddenly make out every beautifully symmetric feature of her elegant face. Rerem shivered and stepped to the side. "So much for getting rest," he muttered.

"Well, I don't know about you," Nyixa said, moving back to the bed and throwing herself down on it, "but I am going to get as much sleep as I can. I've had too much excitement for one day." She stretched her arms above her head, her gaze glued to the ceiling. Her eyes didn't close.

Rerem sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the datapad that had started their argument. "Do you want this?" He tossed it to her before she could answer.

Nyixa caught it expertly between her palms. She pursed her lips, flipping the black object over in her hands. "You know," she said, "I don't think I want to know what's in it, either."

"Not curious anymore, are you?" Rerem lay back beside her. There was very little room on the bed and he felt like he was going to roll off the edge.

Nyixa turned her head so that they were, once again, face-to-face and very close together. "Seline found it," she said. "Seline new what it was. She killed herself to get it to us. I don't need to know the specifics to know that's it worth dying for, no matter what my personal reasons for joining Father." Her eyes narrowed. "Now move over, please, I'm feeling a little cramped."

"I'm going to fall off."

"Then fall off." She rolled over onto her uninjured side so she faced the small window in the room.

Feeling irritated, Rerem rolled over, too. The space was still limited and their backs were touching, but Nyixa didn't seem to care. She hadn't fallen asleep yet as he could hear her playing with the datapad.

"Rerem."

"What?" Now that he was lying down, exhaustion pulled at his limbs. Rerem didn't want to talk any longer than he had to.

"Twelve hours is an awfully long time to wait for a ship to come in."

"Yes."

"A lot can happen in twelve hours."

"Yes."

"Don't want poison creeping up on us… we'll move after we get some sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She fell silent and Rerem finally thought she had submitted to her fatigue. "Marxes is an idiot."

"Oh, go to sleep," he snapped, but it was a half-hearted attempt. His eyes were already closed and he was drifting off to sleep whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

_**10 hours, 48 minutes.**_

Rerem snapped awake when he heard something move. He found his blaster and rolled off the bed, landing in a crouched position. Though he couldn't see Nyixa, he could hear her somewhere behind him and she also drawn her weapon.

A large-framed Bothan stood at the entrance to the room, her hands held up and her blasters still holstered.

It was Aaven.

Rerem's grip on his blaster tightened. Why the hell was she here now? He raised his head a little higher and examined her more closely. Though her hands remained far from her weapons, her gaze was focused on the pair of them, causing her mocking chortles to fill the small room.

He didn't have time for this. Obviously, Marxes had sent her for some stupid reason and the last thing he wanted was this Bothan thug trailing after him.

"What do you want?"

"Well, well, well," Aaven said, a feline grin plastered on her large face, "a couple of busted spies looking like your – er – playtime just got interrupted."

Nyixa hissed something incomprehensible in Falleen. Apparently she did not take the comment lightly.

Aaven had no eyes for her; her gaze was now glued to Rerem. "I'd've expected you to have skipped town by now, _Keller."_

Rerem started and cautiously unwound from his position. His memory had been jarred – he had an inkling as to why he found this particular Bothan familiar.

"And you, Nyixa," Aaven continued though she refused to remove her look from Rerem, "I thought a Falleen would have… better taste in humans. Ah, well. You win some and you lose some."

"You can take that snivelling tone out of your mouth, beast," Nyixa snapped. "I have half a mind to pacify you right now."

"Ah, touchy, isn't she, Keller." Aaven grinned. "You really have changed, old boy."

"It happens," Rerem said, taking a step towards her. "And you're looking a little more grey than usual."

Aaven's ears twitched. "The silver compliments my look, thank you very much."

"Your look?" Rerem chortled. "So you're going for old and battle-hardened now?"

"One can't run from one's past," Aaven replied, bobbing a mock curtsey. "Though I was aiming for 'distinguished', I actually had some of the silver added, it's not all natural, you know—"

"Give me your weapons."

She sighed. "So demanding." She unholstered her blasters and tossed them on the floor. At another glare from Rerem, she kicked the shiny black pistols towards him.

Rerem shook his blaster at her. "And the other one."

Aaven scoffed. "Oh, surely—"

"Ten years isn't enough time to change the likes of you."

The silver streaks in Aaven's hair bristled. "Damn you, old boy. So _not_ understanding."

"I don't want any surprises from you, Yora," he said, watching as she retrieved a concealed pistol and threw it to him. "Or should I call you Aaven now?"

"Oh, I am Aaven, through and through," the Bothan said. "She's a little more distinguished and sensible than fair Yora. And a lot older, too. Besides," Aaven scoffed, "Yora had a certain reputation about her that just wouldn't do. Aaven's a completely different cracknut – matronly and dignified—"

Nyixa snorted.

Aaven bared her teeth and ignored the Falleen spy. "Don't you think so, Keller?"

"Hardly," Rerem said. "Maybe I should just call you Yoraaven and be done with it."

"Hmm." Aaven looked thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, Yoraaven has a nice sort of ring to it. Unfortunately," she added, shaking her head, "combining identities never was my thing."

"I am very bored right now," Nyixa snapped.

"Good," Aaven shot back. "Please go somewhere else, Keller and I have to catch up on some quality time."

Nyixa steadied her aim. "That was your warning, Bothan. If the next thing you say doesn't interest me, I'll shoot you through the head."

"My, my," Aaven said, "you're feisty for a Falleen. How astonishing. If you were any other colour, I'd mistake you for a human."

_Bang._

Nyixa's shot grazed Aaven's shoulder. The Bothan was unperturbed; she grinned and wiped the blood away. "What a bad shot," she said nonchalantly. "Are you sure she's good company for you, Keller?"

Rerem snarled. He was getting tired of this. "I'll shoot you myself, Yora—"

"Aaven."

"—_Yoraaven_, if you don't tell us what you want."

"Of course," Aaven said, "when you put it like that, I'll have to comply." She stepped gracefully – a great feat for one of her size – to the side of the room and sat down on the nearest chair. There was something strangely alluring about her regal posture. "Just be sure to call me Aaven from now own, dear," she added. "Yora is firmly buried six feet under Alastro VI and Aaven has gladly been working for a certain _brotherhood_ for a year now, if you take my meaning."

Rerem slowly lowered his blaster. Nyixa hissed at him, but he ignored her. "Father put you here?"

"No," Aaven retorted, laughing. "We, shall we say, hold your 'Father' in our 'prayers', but we don't 'serve' him directly."

Rerem gritted his teeth. So Aaven was working undercover for the Bothan Spynet now. Somehow he doubted an intelligence network known for its associations with the Rebellion had managed to change her ways at all. "I see," he said. "What brings you to such high-altitude business?"

"Marxes' business went toxic," Aaven said. "I went in to keep an eye on certain stinking things that might wash up. Good thing, too – I wasn't expecting you to be caught up drifting in the slime."

Rerem's eyes narrowed. He wasn't in the mood to play her games, but he decided to go with it. "What have you got to offer?" he asked, collecting Aaven's discarded weapons and tossing them on the bed as he sat down.

"Something for something," Aaven said.

Nyixa let out a guttural hiss. Rerem waved it aside; his partner may refuse to trust Aaven (and rightly so, he thought privately), but there as always the chance of picking up something important. With Aaven, it could swing both ways without warning.

"A bargain," he said flatly. "What do you want?"

"The same thing Marxes asked for," Aaven said, "transmitted directly to my overseers. I haven't been able to give them much lately despite my oh-so-wonderful position, and they're getting quite finicky."

"This is Coruscant, Yor- Aaven. There's always something to dig up."

"Yes, but the prize I want is with you."

"Not gonna happen," Rerem snapped.

She sighed and stretched out. "I don't know why you're getting so uptight about this. It'll be going to the same place—"

"For a fee," Rerem interrupted. "Your lot may ultimately serve the same people we do, but you always ask for a price first."

Aaven shrugged. "Money is business – you of all people should remember that, Keller. People will pay for anything these days, be it information, someone's death or a handful of cracknuts."

"Would you like me to shoot her, Rerem?" Nyixa asked.

"Not yet. I don't think we're done with her."

"'We'?" Aaven said. She scoffed. "How quaint."

"_I_ am done with her." Behind the mask of sweat and grime, Nyixa's face had settled into open, raw hatred. She'd kill anyone who got in her way, and the Bothan was making herself an accessible target.

Aaven, for her part, didn't seem to mind that she was staring down the barrel of a gun and continued to ignore the Falleen woman. "I see you're really no longer Keller, old boy."

"The name doesn't suit me."

"So you're back to Rerem, eh? How dull. I was hoping it was just one of Marxes' strange formalities. I liked you better as Keller."

Rerem's hands were clenched into fists. "Okay, look, Aaven, you're messing with our time. If you don't get to the point or leave, I'll let Nyixa shoot you. She's had a pretty bad day, so I imagine she's itching to take it out on someone."

Aaven spread her hands. "Impatience, impatience… you've got a little less than twelve bloody hours, you could spare me a few—"

_Click._

"—_fine."_ Aaven leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, as if she were at a debriefing meting in some fine board room rather than a musty, decrepit lodge. "Like I said, Marxes' gang went toxic. However, you're in a bit of luck – the Imps have no idea that you've been in touch with him today because Miss Green over there shot down their man. You did quite the number on poor old Colchis, missy. I'd congratulate you, but I don't know if that would warrant me a blaster bolt between the eyes or not."

Nyixa continued to stare coldly at the Bothan, her blaster unwavering. Aaven gave her a strange little smile.

"Chances are," Aaven continued, now ignoring Nyixa completely, "the Imps know something has happened to their man by now. The good news is that sometimes they're a little slow to catch up on things, so long as Vader doesn't find you, you've bought yourself an extra time block. Even so, never underestimate someone working in their home sky. Those Imps won't be taking a break and they want you, bad." She shook her shaggy head. "By hell, you're a dead man, Rerem Anaro."

"And don't I know it."

The flicker of a smile crossed Aaven's face. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. "A bit of occupational advice: if you want to see another system's sunrise ever again, Marxes' ships are the only choice you've got and you'd be daft to try anything else. The Imps have every docking bay blocked off and you don't want to get mixed up with other crime bosses – they'll shoot first and ask questions later. Frankly, you're not physically up to it," she added, eyeing both of them. "In other words, you might as well have two feet duracreted to the ground. So, you've got a little less than twelve hours to try to stay alive. Think you're still up to it? I don't suppose you'd consider handing those datafiles over now, would you? Let the Bothans take care of it."

"No," Nyixa said. "This is not your people's business—"

"All Imp business is our business, missy—"

"—and I don't believe for one second flat that they are your people," Nyixa bit out. "Past association with Rerem means something to me: it's all a little too convenient that you showed up when you did. Bail us out? No, thank you."

Aaven's eyes narrowed. "So, what you're saying is that if I'd been a completely stranger, it would have been better?" She chortled. "If I'd known _that_, then I should have come up with a better disguise than a new name!"

"Stop it," Nyixa spat. "This is our find, our team has sacrificed their lives to keep it safe—"

"And if you don't do something about it, you're going to go the same way," Aaven interrupted bluntly.

"Thanks for keeping us enlightened," Nyixa snarled.

Aaven shrugged. "Don't be so vainglorious, girl. Think you want to be a martyr for your cause? It's not worth it. Three of your colleagues are dead, don't make it so the rest of you are, too. I can get it out for you. Whatever's contained in those files is far too important to start bickering about which operation hands it over to the big guys."

Nyixa froze. "That has _nothing _to do with it!"

"Oh really? Your demeanour tells me otherwise."

"That's enough," Rerem said. "We can argue in circles about whether or not this is some elaborate ploy, but I'm not having any of it—"

"Hm." Aaven sighed. "So you're turning me down? I expected that much."

"So long as either Nyixa or I are alive, those datafiles stay with us."

"You don't have to be so blunt about it."

"Pardon me, your head can be a little thick sometimes."

"Thanks for the shining endorsement." Aaven tapped her fingers along the armrests of her chair. Despite the verbal firing, she still maintained her demure posture. She was completely unflappable.

"Really," Rerem continued, "this exercise was entirely futile."

"Not necessarily," Aaven said, shrugging again. "I need to sharpen my wit somehow."

"I'd prefer not to be your whetting stone, thanks very much."

Aaven chortled. "So tell me, I'm curious – how are you going to pay Marxes for this stunt he'll help you pull?"

"It's not a stunt," Nyixa said sharply, "it's just safe passage off-plant." With her blaster still focused on their unwanted guest, she moved slowly to the entrance of the room, a slight frown in her expression.

"As long as the Imps don't pull him aside," Aaven replied, eyeing her casually.

"It won't come to that," Rerem said. "Marxes' people are capable of outrunning blockades if they have to."

"I'm just reminding you of the odds, old boy," Aaven said. "It helps keep the head clear. You know Marxes will want cash upfront."

"I'm still working on it."

Aaven checked her wrist-chrono. "Well, you better work faster, then."

Nyixa called his name, but Rerem didn't hear her.

"Don't forget, he's technically _my_ hostage," he was saying sharply to Aaven. "We'll see what he says after we take a little trip around the poison factory."

"He could have you killed."

"Not before I give him the antidote, he won't."

Aaven shook her head. "You know full well that there's at least a dozen ways around _that._ Don't keep your hopes up."

"Rerem!" Nyixa called, but again he didn't register her.

"Ah." Rerem's eyes narrowed. "I get it. You don't think I can handle Marxes."

"Well, frankly, dear, he did shoot you last time you met."

"Why does everyone keep bringing that up?" He pressed a hand to his forehead. "I can deal with Marxes on the spot if I have to. Right now, he's the least of my worries."

"Then I don't have much else to offer you."

Aaven got to her feet. She fumbled at something hidden within her belt and tossed the small object at Rerem. He caught it with one hand. Looking down, he saw a small, rectangular white chip stamped with letters and numbers resting in his palm. It was the kind that you inserted into a computer or transmitter to access a closed communications circuit. He looked up, catching Aaven's eyes. The Bothan had him transfixed with a steely glare.

"Use it when you have to. If your priorities straighten themselves out, that is—"

"GET DOWN!"


	6. Pursued and Exit

_**9 hours, 47 minutes. **_

Nyixa's shout shot across the room just as the door burst open. Rerem hit the floor, pulling Aaven's supply of weapons with him. Blaster fire flew over him and the next moment, Aaven was shouting, her words masked by the flurry of ricocheting sound. Acting on his long-trained reflexes, Rerem shut his eyes, clasping his hands over his mouth and nose. Something close to him exploded with a muffled bang and for moment the blaster fire ceased, replaced with coughing and retching. Rerem staggered to his feet, feeling Nyixa's cold grasp on his arm, and ran forwards, his eyes still tightly shut. There was a foul stench in the air.

Aaven's timing was unhindered by old age.

Moments later, Rerem, Nyixa and Aaven were expelled into the hallway in a grey cloud that dissipated as it rushed in all directions into the open space. With stinging eyes and hoarse voices, they shot off down the hall as fast as they could, trying to fling the effects of the gas that had flooded the room to engulf their unwanted Imperial visitors.

"Could you give us a warning before you throw one of those?" Nyixa snapped at Aaven as they hurtled down the corridor.

"Oh, that gratitude is so noticeable right now," Aaven snarled. She yelped as another blaster bolt went flying past her head, nearly scoring her in the cheek. Nyixa was about to reply when Rerem rammed into their backs, pushing them abruptly into a right-hand corridor. Aaven was caught off-balance and went crashing to the floor.

"Less talk, more running!" he hissed.

"Of course, dear," Aaven said, launching herself back up as if she had never fallen down.

They charged down the hall, the heavy voices of their pursuers never far behind. Light flickered through from the long window lining the left-hand side of the corridor, casting shadows in every direction. They were the kind of shadows that made the hunted jump on the slight off-chance that the enemy who is so clearly behind you somehow managed to give you the slip and get ahead.

A steady stream of epithets burned silently in Rerem's mind; if he had the breath, they would be echoing loudly down the corridor. He was exhausted, but if he stopped moving, he was dead. Part of him almost wished that his body would give out on him, simply because that made everything so much easier. In the past day, living had become almost impossible and he was getting pretty damn close to wondering what was so unlikeable about that death option.

Aside from the fact that he would be – well – dead.

Endgame.

It really wasn't a favourable option.

Up ahead, Nyixa skidded to a stop, grabbing hold of a panel on the wall. She wrenched it open with such force that the cover went flying; her long fingers began furiously punching in a series of codes. Aaven's fur bristled and she barrelled along down the hall, at ease with leaving Nyixa standing unguarded for Imperial target practice.

"Aaven!" Rerem shouted.

"Let her go if she wants to." Nyixa said, quickly reaching for something hidden in her clothes. "She's nothing I care about." She flinched as red light flared down the corridor. "I need you to cover me."

Rerem's grip on his blaster tightened and he pointed it in the direction of their approaching enemies. "No need to ask."

Nyixa withdrew a small silver disc and jammed it into the panel, which lit up, illuminating the wall. Rerem could not spare a moment to understand what exactly she was doing; the Imperial agents were already running down the hall way and they had no real cover. He and Nyixa were out-numbered and the moment the Imperials got within firing range, they were dead.

"Got it!" Nyixa shouted.

"Down!"

Rerem grabbed her by the waist and they tumbled to the floor as a shot went over their heads, missing them by inches. Out of the corner of his eye, Rerem saw an invisible door suddenly swing open, revealing the darkness of a maintenance corridor. He lurched forwards, keeping close to the ground as he tried to fling himself into the protection of the only barricade available. Another red light blasted towards him and he pulled back; the floor sparked and flared up as the shot hit it, leaving a decently sized burn in the lodge's ratty carpet. Moments later, the panel was also hit. It crackled, white sparks flying from it and then promptly died.

_BANG._

A smoke-screen erupted in the corridor, searing Rerem's eyes. He blinked back tears – all he could see was the blurry outline of swelling grey clouds. The blaster fire ceased; the Imperials were too afraid of hitting their own agents. But that didn't stop them from continuing their attack – footsteps pounding the corridor, coming ever closer.

A furry hand grasped his wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"Honestly, do I have to do everything around here?" Aaven's voice said. She pushed him unceremoniously to the now cavernous-looking maintenance corridor. The moment they were inside, she pulled the door closed, locking them in complete darkness.

"They destroyed the controls, we can't lock it!" Nyixa was breathing heavily, but she managed to light a glowrod, illuminating the cramped space with dim yellow.

Rerem glanced around the space. They were lucky enough that the maintenance corridor was more or less a glorified storage closet that went somewhere. There were several heavy boxes littering the floor.

"Help me move these, then!"

Despite Nyixa looking like she wanted to shoot Aaven in the face, they managed to lug several of the boxes in front of the door and stack them one on top of the other. The Imperials began pounding on the sealed entrance even as they worked, searching for the fastest way through to their cornered prey. Their muffled voices seeped through to the Rebels as Rerem and Aaven pushed the last boxes into place in their hastily created barrier.

"They've blocked the passage; we won't be able to push through."

"Then call in the technicians and stop wasting time!"

"Sir, we have a report—"

Aaven shook her head and squeezed past Rerem and Nyixa. "Pardon me," she muttered and pushed her way down the narrow space as quickly as her bulky frame would allow her. "Might as well get a move on while we can. They're all tied up with their reports and their seniority. You know, if Imps cared less about the rulebook, they'd probably find themselves more efficient."

"They're efficient enough as it is!" Nyixa grunted.

The voices began to fade as they made their way through the twists and turns of inner piping. Rerem found himself, strangely, trying to remember all the times he had used the maintenance corridors to either get into or get out of places. If the Empire truly wanted to wipe them out, then they really did have to keep an eye on places like these. In the meantime, he was just glad that they didn't. Any flaw in the enemy's system meant a higher survival rate for them.

Unfortunately, those flaws had not extended their gratitude to the rest of the team.

"… what do you mean you can't get through…?"

"… sir, you have orders…"

"… what do you mean he's here?"

"… I know I have orders!"

"Talkative bunch, these ones," Aaven said, smirking. "I don't think they know when to shut up."

"I'd give you the same piece of advice," Nyixa said. "Can't you move any faster?"

Aaven shrugged and didn't bother to grace the Falleen woman with a response.

"… _Lord Vader _is here?"

Nyixa stopped dead in her tracks, the glowrod slipping from her grip. It clattered to the floor and shut itself off, plummeting them into darkness once again.

"Vader," she murmured.

"Nyixa, keep moving," Rerem said.

"_Vader is here,"_ she spat.

"All the more reason to keep moving," Aaven said.

"No, I'm going back!" Nyixa tried to fight her way past Rerem, but there was not enough room in the narrow space. She pushed and clawed at him, desperate to return and hand herself over to the Imperials for the chance to come face to face with the monster upon whom she had sworn vengeance.

"Nyixa, stop it!" Rerem shouted.

"Let me through!" Her sharp fingernails clawed at his face.

He pushed her hands aside. "No!"

"Damn it, Rerem! Let me through!" She shoved at him again, but her actions were severely constricted – there was barely enough space for her to move. She hissed, her green cheeks flushing deep red in her anger. Rerem seized her by the forearms and tried to force her to stop struggling to get past him.

The heat in the maintenance corridor was rising. Claustrophobia was settling in around them like a thick blanket.

"Get off!" Nyixa yelled, freeing one arm.

"So you can run back to Vader?" Rerem shouted. "I need you, Nyixa. Get your priorities in order!" He flinched as she slapped in him in face, but did not relinquish his grip on her. He had never seen her fly into a rage like this before; usually she had a firm handle on her emotions. But the stress of the past two days had built up – it was no great wonder that she was still cracking under its pressure. Right now, she was living and breathing vengeance and if he let her go, she'd shoot right back down the corridor to her own death.

"Sithspit, Rerem, my priorities _are_ in order! The murderer of my people is in this building, can you bloody expect me to—"

"Are you an idiot, girl?" Aaven snapped. "Keep your voice down and keep moving! Only an idiot wants to come face to face with Vader—"

"I am not an idiot, Bothan," Nyixa snarled. "Let me go!" She kicked him in the shin and he let go out of surprise. Shoving him away, she stalked over to their Bothan companion, kicking the fallen glowrod down the corridor in the process, and spat in her face. "I have my own reasons—"

"I'm sure you do, but I'd prefer for you to do your reasoning without us. I don't want _you_ getting _me_ killed, thank you very much."

Nyixa was quiet for a moment. She brushed past Aaven, stooped and swiped the glowrod from the floor. She turned it back on, dousing the constricting hall in yellow light. Smouldering anger – now mostly directed at Aaven – was rolling off her, but she kept it tightly controlled as her skin slowly went back to green. She kept her head held high and her tongue silent, except for a few choice words muttered in Falleen, and fixed the Bothan with a steely glare.

Aaven met the challenge and stood her ground.

"Are you two done?" Rerem said.

Neither woman replied.

"Good," Rerem said into the silence, squeezing past both of them and swiping the glowrod from Nyixa. "Murder each other on your own time."

"Murder yourself, Rerem," Aaven snapped, moving forward and taking the glowrod. She led the bristling party onwards in silence.

The maintenance system was extensive, but all three of them had used this kind of escape enough to have a good idea of where they were going. To their temporary relief, it seemed that the Imperials had given up on pursuing them here. If Rerem were to hazard a guess, Vader's arrival had thrown the agents off their guard and disrupted their plan. Figures of authority – especially those who garnered a certain menacing reputation – always caused a stir. In any other situation, Rerem would have had to thank Vader for his timing. But now it was impossible to tell if Vader was going to follow them himself or not.

Rerem was hoping they would manage to slip right by him unnoticed. Knowing their chances, it probably would never happen – but sometimes luck held out. All you could do was hope for the best and be thankful that you weren't dead yet.

The maintenance corridors twisted back and forth and up and down. The route was long, forcing them to climb ladders downward more than once as it led them further away from their enemy. As they would not be returning, Rerem did not bother memorizing it.

The narrow halls were suffocating. Heat swirled through the ill-vented system, and the cool drafts that rushed up the maintenance shafts were few and far between. The whole place stank of sweat and slowly growing panic. The further they went, the more they began to question if the absent Imperial pursuit was too good to be true. None of them voiced their fears – they didn't have to. They were as tangible as the durasteel walls closing in around them. Despite no signs of a chase, the thought was never far away.

With the threat of pursuit overshadowing them, the feelings of claustrophobia were heightened. Rerem was having difficulty breathing, though he forced himself to concentrate on the thought of escape. He had always been good at that. No matter what dire situation he found himself in, he could usually placate his protesting body by thinking of the reward he would get at the end of the tunnel: his life.

Aaven did not fare so well. With her bulky frame, each passing moment became more difficult for her to force her way through. She had never done well with tight, enclosed spaces in the past, but she would never admit to it. Rerem, however, could sense her discomfort growing by the minute and he thought he heard her swearing under her breath about blasted maintenance shafts.

"You do realize they're meant for droids," Nyixa said. "They're not supposed to be spy-friendly."

"Oh, bite your tongue for once, girl!"

The space in the corridor suddenly widened and Aaven came to a halt. She spun around, her eyes glinting in the yellowish light of the glowrod.

Nyixa drew up short. "Why do I get the feeling you're about to do something stupid?"

"I have no interest in going any further."

"Good," Nyixa said. "I never asked you to come."

"Oh, shut up!" Rerem hissed. He squeezed past Nyixa and pulled Aaven aside as much as he could. There was an opening to another hall in the lodge, which he knew the Bothan was insisting on taking. "You've helped us, Aaven. You don't have to go back out there."

"I do not intend on crawling away in this maintenance corridors any longer." Aaven smoothed back her bristling fur. "It's bad for my looks."

Rerem held up his hands. "Okay, I get it. You don't want to have any affiliation with us."

Aaven chuckled. "Unfortunately, I already messed that one up, old boy. I went back to save your hides. Silly me. I should have just taken your precious intel and run with it."

Nyixa swore in Falleen, but Aaven ignored her.

"My stop's here," she continued. "Whether those Imps catch up with me or not doesn't matter – I'm not really the one they're after. I had a look at this building's layout before I got to you. If you go down that corridor for about forty more paces, you should come to another turn in the hall. Go down the ladder and there's a door. If you can break the code – which should be easy for your young Falleen lady over there – it'll bring you out to a landing platform. Steal your speeder of chose and off you go. If I make it out, I might see you around Marxes' place tomorrow. If not…. well." She shrugged. "That's that, then."

"Aaven –"

"No complaints, old boy," she said, patting his cheek affectionately. "You go do your job. That's what you're good at. Stop wasting time worrying about an old furball like me."

"Aaven, look—"

She waved a hand in the air. "You don't have to thank me! My team will be thankful enough once you get that intel to them."

"I'm not planning on sending it to them," Rerem said shortly.

"I gave you those codes for a reason," Aaven said. "It's just another way out. And there's no such thing as too many ways out. Be grateful, old boy, I'm doing you a favour when the time comes."

He chuckled half-heartedly. "So, is the old furball a seer now?"

She clucked her tongue. "Maybe I'm just a good guesser. But I will tell you this, Rerem. I don't think you need a warning to remind you: an inability to trust the right people might come back to bite you." She paused and ran a hand through her silver-streaked fur. "But I always did need reminders. I'm just saying." She exhaled sharply through her nose and hoisted her blaster. "Keep an eye on him for me, will you, dearie?" she called to Nyixa. "He can get into some mighty fine stupid mistakes sometimes."

"It's more fun that way," Nyixa said. Her face was completely straight, her voice monotone.

"Isn't it always?" Aaven said, nodding. She turned, rammed her shoulder against the small door and pressed. She shot a look at Rerem, who took her meaning instantly. Seizing Nyixa's elbow, he pulled her along down the corridor and broke into a run.

An opened door could be stepped through in either direction, and you never knew when the enemy might decide to step through and chase you down.


	7. In Life or Death Situations

_**8 hours, 3 minutes. **_

It was impossible to say what Vader had done to his agents back at the lodge, but Rerem personally didn't want to find out. All he knew was that he and Nyixa escaped the maintenance corridors and fled in a stolen speeder, which they exchanged for another one from a grungy repair shop a few dozen miles away. They were almost sure they weren't being tailed this time, but it had been a close call and Rerem wasn't about to call complete victory over their enemies. If anything, they had probably only managed to grab a few hours of freedom.

He and Nyixa had both agreed that it was unsafe to take refuge in a hive or another lodge. By now the Imperials probably knew all of their most likely – and most unlikely – haunts and would have them covered. It was a small planet, after all – as they were becoming increasingly aware. When you had the higher ups clawing at your back, places to hide on Coruscant were few and far between, even if you knew the tricks of the trade.

The best way to shake them off would be to do the unpredictable and go where no intelligent Rebel spy would go when they were on the run: the upper levels of Coruscant.

They broke into a small, but decent, apartment late in the afternoon. It was easy enough – the building was middle-class, so its security system wasn't difficult for Nyixa to override. Rerem went in first through the front door, as was his favourite ploy. With a bounty on their heads, a human and a Falleen in ragged conditions walking in together would look suspicious. There were many residents returning from work at that time, so the woman at the front desk didn't pay him any attention. A few eyebrows were raised, but most the damage to his clothing and body was concealed by a long coat that had been in the back of their stolen speeder.

Nyixa let herself in through the backdoor, neatly slicing through every piece of security she encountered and then putting it back in order once she slipped by. She met him on the floor of their targeted apartment.

The apartment was well-furnished for middle-class workers, consisting of a sitting room, kitchen, fresher and bedroom all of a decently large size. Much of the decorum was distinctly feminine; Rerem guessed that it was either an unmarried woman or a married couple who lived here. There were a fair amount of couches decorated with plush pillows scattered around the sitting room. A glass desk with a computer sat in one corner. A second one was in the centre of the room; Rerem and Nyixa dumped their weapons there for temporary storage. A chrono blasted the time from one of the walls. Everything was white – white splashed with traces of bright, cheerful colours, with the exception of the long curtains flowing over the large, transparisteel window at the end of the room. Those were bright, solid yellow.

The colours were making him feel nauseous.

_White's trendy these days,_ he thought with a glower as he stalked about the sitting room, tracking dirt from his boots and clothes all over the neat, white carpet. He knew he should be collapsing with exhaustion right now, but his mind was restless, making his body restless.

He prowled across the apartment, looking for something to occupy his agitated mind.

The white scheme with its blasted complementary bright colours was not confined to the sitting room. The kitchen was bedecked with them, too, as was the bedroom – which had the unfortunate addition of too much lace. Rerem swore and slammed the bedroom door shut. Places like this were so clean and spotless, they made him jittery. He remembered Seline's body and how brightly her blood had stained the white backdrop too well.

_Besides,_ he thought, steering away from thoughts of Seline's death, _it all looks so ridiculous it's making me bloody sick. _

"Would you calm down over there?" Nyixa called irritably from the glass desk in the sitting room. She was bent over the computer, coaxing information out of it.

Rerem picked up a dainty white pillow and threw it aside. "Working on it."

"Work harder. If the neighbours hear, there'll be trouble."

"There aren't any neighbours _to _hear," Rerem shot back as he moved to the kitchen and began pandering around the cupboards, looking for something to eat. His stomach was growling and aching from lack of food. "Mr and Mrs Winstry of Apartment 908 next door were kind enough to put an 'away on vacation' sign on their front entrance. And if there were people above us, we'd be able to hear their footsteps." He pulled out a jar of tok nut butter, opened it, and stabbed a spoon into the thick spread.

"Glad to know someone's observant."

Rerem walked back out into the sitting room and threw himself down on chair, shoving tok nut butter into his mouth. He swallowed the sticky mass. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not," he said. "It's kind of hard to tell from your tone."

"Rerem, if being nice to you was a pastime of mine, you'd be on the other side of the galaxy right now. Running. Very fast."

Feeling sick from trying to eat too quickly, Rerem got back up and tossed the tok nut butter through the kitchen entrance. The jar clattered to the floor. Satisfied, he took up his prowling again, searching every corner of the apartment for any distracting clues about its owner.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Nyixa said as he made his third pass by her. "I've got the information you want right here."

"Oh?" Rerem wasn't really interested – he was just trying to distract himself by any means possible. He stamped over to the window, glaring at the gaudy curtains.

Nyixa straightened and tapped her fingers on the glass desk. "The place belongs to a Miss Saffron N—" She paused, staring at the screen. "Um, never mind, I don't think I can pronounce that…"

"What?" Rerem grunted, wrenching back the floor-length, sunshine-yellow curtains and glaring out the window.

"Some human last name," Nyixa said distractedly, looking away from the computer, "and what the hell are you doing?"

Rerem jerked the curtains closed, the swiftness of the action causing them to billow behind him with tiresome cheerfulness as he spun around. If curtains could be happy. Of course they could – they were damn yellow curtains, the happiest colour in the universe!

Nyixa gazed at him, her eyes narrowed. "And I thought I was cracking," she muttered.

Rerem paced across the room, kneading his hands together. "I hate this place. It's too… _happy."_

Nyixa raised an eyebrow. "Kriff, okay. I'll try to remember that for next time. Rerem only wants to visit depressing places, I got it—"

"No, no, no." He threw himself down on the couch and immediately sank into its ludicrous fluffiness. "It's—" He stopped and whipped around so quickly something cracked. "I thought you were all vengeance and blood thirst."

Nyixa shrugged. "That was an hour or so ago. It wore off."

"Well, that was damn fast."

"It happens. I'm trained. It's the Falleen way. I shouldn't have exploded back there; I put us in unnecessary danger."

Rerem picked up a pillow and fiddled with the blue embroidery. "Nah. It wasn't your fault. You have every right to want vengeance."

"But it wasn't the time for that. I put you and Aaven at risk. And, well, I'm sorry."

The threads pulled loose, unravelling the pretty pattern splashed across the surface of the pillow. Rerem tossed it aside. "I said you don't have to be!" he said sharply. "Nothing happened! Look at us, we're bloody fine." He got up and began pacing around the room again, running his hands repeatedly through his dirty hair.

Nyixa's fingers gripped the edge of the desk she was leaning against. "What the hell is wrong with you, Rerem? I'd say you're the one who's losing it now. Go take a bloody nap already."

"Honestly, it won't do any good." He stormed across the room and snatched the chrono from the wall. Turning on his heel, he chucked it at Nyixa. "Look at that."

She caught it expertly, but blank puzzlement crossed her face. "Why am I holding this?"

"Look at the bloody time."

She did – and shook her head, still perplexed. "What?"

"Twelve hours, Nyixa," he said. "Twelve bloody, kriffing _hours._"

"I still don't get it."

He walked over to her and took the chrono from her, running his fingers across its screen. "Twelve hours ago, you were crawling back to me, having just exhausted yourself outrunning Vader. Koss and Nash were dead. We've been on our own since, but by _hell_ it's felt a lot longer than twelve kriffing hours."

Nyixa plucked the chrono from his hands before he felt the need the smash it. "You're backtracking, Rerem," she said, placing the chrono gently on the desk behind her. "Think forward, not backward, otherwise you'll only find yourself at a standstill."

He laughed heartlessly. "Thanks. I'll do just that." He kicked the nearest chair. "Ow."

Nyixa pulled on her long hair. "You really do need sleep, Rerem—"

"I can't." He was moving again, back to the window where he could see the passing late afternoon traffic through the semi-translucent material of the insultingly yellow curtains. Thousands of people, returning home after a day's work, their past twelve hours certainly filled with less close run-ins with death than his had been. "I can't stay still, Nyixa. I can't sleep, I can't rest. My body can't keep up with my mind. As soon as I try to rest, I'll just wake myself up again."

She wet her lower lip. "Rerem…"

"How many times can one almost die in half a day, Nyixa?" he said. "I've lost count. I think… I think my brain's convinced that if I lie down and try to sleep, then I'm cursing myself. They'll find us if I do that. I have to stay awake, I can't—"

She moved across the room and gently touched his hand. "Stop it," she said softly, but firmly. "You're going to drive yourself crazy. Trust me, I've already done it."

"I was already crazy to begin with." He cracked a half-smile, but she shook her head.

"Don't. That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it." She gently turned his face with her hand. "You stopped me from losing it when I had all but given up on my own sanity. I'm not going to let you lose it either – call it returning a favour."

"I don't know. Maybe going insane will make me feel better—"

"It won't." She locked eyes with him. There was a persistence in her look that he had never seen before. It suddenly occurred to Rerem that Nyixa honestly meant what she was saying and he was taken aback by her sincerity. He had never really thought of her capable of _caring_ – if that was the right word – for him like this. She was just another member on his team – a valued colleague, just like Nash and Koss… and Seline. They all cared for each other, in their own way, but Nyixa… Here she was making it abundantly clear that she did genuinely care for him, for whatever reason.

What the hell was she doing?

His mouth was strangely dry.

He swallowed.

He opened his mouth, but it took a moment for the words to come. "I am going to go find something else to wear," he said, looking down at his ragged clothes. The past twelve hours had not been kind to them – he was dirty, sweaty, covered in grime and blood. His clothing was torn, frayed and ripped. He needed to replace them if he was to move more inconspicuously outside.

Nyixa blinked and withdrew her hand from his cheek. "Let's hope that – er – Miss Saffron has something that doesn't include lace," she said, recovering quickly.

He walked away stiffly, opening the door to the bedroom and disappearing inside to loot through the available clothing. Hopefully 'Miss Saffron' had a boyfriend who liked nondescript clothing; otherwise he might as well stick with his tattered clothes.

He could hear Nyixa moving around in the other room as he searched, eventually finding some men's clothing that were, thankfully, black. Instead of changing, he went to the fresher. Getting cleaned up seemed like a good idea at the moment. There was only so much sweat and blood you could handle in a day.

"DAMN IT!"

Nyixa's voice shouted through the door. Rerem stepped out of the shower and hurriedly dressed, tripping over his red boots as he rushed out the door. Cursing under his breath, he hopped on one foot as pain flared up his foot where his toe had connected with the boots. Ignoring the biting pain, he snatched up the boots and chucked them at the apartment's entrance with his pile of old, dirty clothes. He spun around and spotted Nyixa, who was seated at the computer and perfectly fine.

She was sending him an odd look. "Rerem, what the—"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he grunted, setting his aching foot on the soft carpet.

She rolled her eyes. "Damn computer," she said, jabbing her thumb in its direction. "I can't get the transmitter to work."

He walked over to her, leaning against the back of her chair as he glanced at the screen. "Why?"

"I was seeing if I could contact Dreis. No luck. Either this computer is screwed over or Dreis changed the codes on us or… what the hell am I going on about." She tugged at her hair and glared at the screen. "I knew it was stupid to think we could contact Dreis. Too simple. The universe hates being simple. I think it probably dictates that spies who gather intel must be chased around by their enemies because transmitting it to their boss would just be too easy." She slammed her fist down on the glass table.

"Did you try comming him?"

"Do I look daft?" She groaned and put her head in her hands. "Yes, I did. I got nothing. Literally nothing. I don't know if something's happened to Dreis or not, but it's downright impossible to find out. I don't like it. It just tells us that we're _really_ on our own."

"Orphaned?" Rerem asked.

Nyixa's shoulders sagged. "Possibly. If Dreis pulled out, he probably figured it was safer to abandon us on the planet than to risk letting us lead Imperials to him. I know, I know…" She rubbed her forehead. "You already guessed that much, otherwise Marxes was just a big, fat waste of time. Gods, this is awful."

"You need to eat something."

Nyixa smirked and looked up. "Now who's being the concerned one? Again?"

Rerem withdrew his hands from the back of the chair. "Go eat something, Nyixa," he told her bluntly. "Go get cleaned up. You'll feel better for it. We can argue about Dreis later."

"Who says I was going to argue?" she muttered, stalking towards the kitchen. "Oh, this is useless!" She stopped by the wall and leaned against it for balance as she tore first one boot, and then the other, from her feet. They were heavily blistered and rubbed raw. "That's better," she said to herself. "There should be a law against making impractical footwear."

Rerem followed her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as she raided the kitchen. "You're the one who chose that particular outfit for work."

Nyixa rolled her eyes. "I couldn't resist. All women like shoes, point of fact. We wear the stupidest things because they look cool, no matter how impractical they are." She found a series of some kind of meat pasties in the cooler. She pulled them out and bit into them without bothering with a plate.

"Though you could take someone's eye out with those heels, given a good kick to the face."

"I suppose."

Rerem cracked a smile. For the first time in a while, it felt at least someone genuine. "Are we seriously discussing footwear now?"

"Rerem, you wear red boots. Don't talk to me about footwear, you obviously don't understand it. Pasty?"

Rerem took one without bothering to respond to her comment about his boots. No one would ever understand that it wasn't his choice to steal that particular pair – they were the best ones available, under the circumstances.

They raided the rest of the kitchen. As the owner was away, there wasn't much there for them to eat. It was the worst assortment of food Rerem had ever experienced in his life, but he didn't care. He was so starved that he would eat anything at this point.

He and Nyixa sat in silence as they devoured what they could find. When they finished, Nyixa locked herself in the fresher, intent on cleaning herself up. Rerem contented himself to lie on the couch and try to get some sleep. But all he ended up doing was staring at the ceiling – which was a cheerful yellow, he couldn't help noticing.

_Stupid ceiling…_

How quickly the world came crashing down when you least expected it. One moment, your team was alive. The next, they were almost all dead. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in what was only a short span of hours. Whenever he looked at the chrono, he was reminded of that fact – which only helped to illuminate the absolute ruthlessness of the Imperials. In twelve hours, they had been chased, shot at, nearly captured, confined to small spaces, and cut and bruised so many times that he felt no better than a hunted animal.

Maybe that was what the Imperials considered them to be. Animals.

Dreis certainly didn't think much of them either – if he had indeed pulled out of Coruscant. He probably had caught wind of what had happened to Seline, and either that was enough to force him out or he, too, had been caught and slaughtered. Rerem had no way of knowing and he doubted he would ever find out for certain.

Seline. This whole damn thing had started with her. If she hadn't dug up that intel in the first place, then their team wouldn't have been systematically hunted down and killed. She had started this, without thought of consequences for her colleagues—

But that wasn't fair. They all knew the risks. They all accepted them. He couldn't blame Seline for what had happened, even though part of him desperately wanted to. Even if he hadn't found her body – at a time that felt like years ago, even though it was only a few days – he knew that they'd probably still would have been hunted. The Imperials were too thorough to let a few Rebel spies go even if they didn't know any particular secrets the Empire wanted protected.

It was pointless to deal with "what ifs." "What ifs" didn't help him. They belonged in the world of backtracking which – as Nyixa had pointed out – was very unnecessary for people in their position. Forget the past and move forwards because you can't do anything about something that has already happened. Even if you wished as hard as hell, it wouldn't change your circumstances an inch.

Rerem stretched and rolled over on his side. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the pile of clothing he had dumped on the floor by the fresher door after his shower. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright and launched himself across the room, searching through his clothes until he found it—

He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the small, white chip in his fist. Aaven's gift – Aaven's codes. If there was no other way and if they found a properly functioning transmitter, they could send the encrypted intel to the Bothan Spynet. Rerem was not fond of the idea of giving a rival network information that had has his colleagues killed, but if the worst should happen, Aaven had guaranteed that they at least had a way of getting the intel to the Alliance.

And really, why did it matter who got it to the Alliance? As long as the Rebellion knew what it contained…

No. It did matter – in the short run. It mattered for Seline and Koss and Nash – and probably for Nyixa and himself as well. If the intel got back to the Rebellion, people years from now wouldn't remember who had originally gotten it out, but right here, right now, it mattered. Otherwise their sacrifices would have been for nothing.

It was prideful and egoistic of him to think so, but everyone wanted to put their stamp on history.

He sat back down on the couch, flipping the chip over in his hands. Why would Aaven give it to him? Was she truly helping out an old "friend", or was she simply securing a way for the Bothans to take the glory? How much could he really trust her? He had slipped into old habits when she had shown up, habits from the days when they used to work together. That had been years ago – who knew where Aaven's motives truly lay. For all he knew, these codes didn't belong to the Bothan SpyNet and would, in fact, send them spiralling back to the Imperials.

"Damn it, Aaven. Why do you always have to be so bloody cryptic?"

The door to the fresher opened, expelling Nyixa. She was wrapped securely in a white towel, steam pooling at her feet. A thick, sweet scent swirled out of the fresher in her wake.

"Find new clothes first, _then_ have shower," she muttered to herself.

Rerem pressed hand to his nose. "What _is_ that?"

Nyixa glanced over her shoulder, her fingers threading through her damp hair. "The lady of the house has a rather adorable collection of perfumed soaps. I was testing them out."

Rerem stared blankly at her. "Uh?"

Nyixa glared back. "What?"

"_Uh?"_

"Oh, give it up," she said bitingly. "I'm allowed to have a girly moment once in a while. Just remind me never to use hot water again, I really don't like it."

"You're being atrociously female, you know," he said as she crossed to the bedroom.

Nyixa leaned against the doorway. "So arrest me. Undercover doesn't treat you well and it's been a while since I've been able to do this. I do like a little pleasure from time to time."

"You're stinking up the place."

"Yes, but at least it's a nice stink."

Rerem tried to reply, but he could – for reasons beyond him – only make muffled sounds in the back of his throat.

Nyixa smirked and slammed the door.

Rerem got up and did the same for the fresher door before the whole apartment started to smell like fake flowers.

It took a while for Nyixa to reappear. Rerem sat on the couch, resting his feet against the low table where he had tossed his weapons when they first arrived. He played with the white chip in his hands, mulling over Aaven's words in his head, trying to figure out whether she was playing him or not. The problem with the Bothan that it was impossible to tell what she really meant, there were too many options with her.

"So if we're orphaned here, what do you suggest?"

The bedroom door had reopened and Nyixa padded across the sitting room, her clean feet looking ridiculously green in contrast to the white carpet. She was dressed in loose, brightly coloured clothing that was too big for her thin frame, but she seemed comfortable enough as she threw herself down into the couch beside Rerem.

He passed her the white chip. "This is from Aaven."

"Yeah," she said, holding it up for examination. "I know. Transmission codes."

"Any way of verifying who they go to?"

"Not with that piece of junk," she said, jerking her finger over her shoulder at the useless computer.

"Kriff." He rested his head in his hands. "Why does this happen?"

"Because the universe hates us."

He shot an exasperated look at her. "Please stop that."

She smiled crookedly. "Sorry, can't. Half-hearted attempts at humour are my last barrier against insanity."

"I'd rather have the insanity, then."

Nyixa handed the white chip back to him. "Hold on to that," she said. "It could be useful. Until I have the right equipment to examine what's on it, don't get rid of it. As much as I distrust Aaven, you never know." She twisted her fingers together. "So… options. What do we have to work with here?"

Rerem leaned into the back of the couch. "Marxes."

"Yeah, sure, but we need a backup plan."

"I hate backup plans."

"That's because all your backup plans fail."

"I don't have backup plans! I work on instinct!"

"Which is exactly why they fail!"

He glared at her, but she shrugged it off and pointed at the chip. "Marxes would have a transmitter we could use."

"Probably," Rerem grunted. "But we've already got his ships – sort of."

"And what if the ships fail?" Nyixa said. "Vader, remember. Imperials. You never know when they're going to capture smuggling ships, plus Aaven said that Marxes' gang had been infiltrated. Who knows how much information Colchis managed to get to them before he got axed."

Rerem set the chip down on the table. "Okay, I get your point. But even if we still slip into Marxes' lair to use his equipment, he'd want payment to be able to use it. And don't say that we can just slip around him, he's expecting us now."

"You could poison him again," Nyixa suggested.

"You could pheromone him again," Rerem shot back, looking at her.

Nyixa held his gaze for a moment and then dropped her eyes. "Look how _that_ turned out last time. I don't want the… the creepy guy touching me."

"Point taken."

They fell silent.

"What's the bet that Marxes has people looking for us right now?" she said after a moment.

"That was probably Aaven's job," Rerem said, "she just turned it around for her own purposes."

"Think he'll send someone else?"

Rerem nodded. "Probably. My bet is that he's freaking out right now. The poison I gave him will make him extremely light-headed and faint and those symptoms get worse with time. He won't be able to accomplish anything on his own – except speech, unfortunately – and Marxes hates being dependent on people. Most likely he's giving orders to hunt us down and get the antidote."

Nyixa looked at him. "If you don't give it to him, he'll die."

"Yes."

"You don't care."

"Not particularly."

"Cold-hearted."

"It's a dangerous game. Besides, Marxes already took a chunk out of me, I'm just returning the favour."

"Remind me never to shoot you." Her upper lip curled into a short smile.

"Well, I hope you wouldn't."

Nyixa's eyes flickered to his face, but then she sharply looked away. "It would depend on the circumstances," she murmured.

"Well, if I was going to go toxic, then I _hope_ you'd shoot me," Rerem said.

"Seline and I talked about that."

"You – what?"

Nyixa gently flicked her fingers together. "Seline always knew the possibility that one of us may go under. Since she'd rather die than be captured and reveal Alliance secrets, she'd rather kill a colleague than let them reveal secrets, either."

Rerem shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that."

"It was her mantra."

"Well—"

"I went over the images of her crime scene, Rerem," Nyixa said. Her voice shook a little. "I know you were there, but you missed everything. You didn't know her as well as I did. But even when I was looking at them, searching for the message I _knew_ she left for me in her own blood, I was cursing her for thinking like that. Like her death changed things. We needed her alive, not dead. She was the best of us, but her silly ideas just—" She shoved her fingertips into her mouth, choking back on her words.

"Hey, hey!" Rerem put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Okay, okay, don't think like that—"

She smiled tightly. "I need to. It makes me feel better."

"Um… sure. Okay." He withdrew his hand.

"Would you do it?" she asked.

"What?"

She locked eyes with him. "Do what Seline did?"

"I… uh…"

"Answer me, Rerem." She blinked. "Please," she added, her voice soft.

Rerem sighed. "I really don't know, Nyixa. Honestly, I can't answer you. If I was caught, then, yes. If there was no other way out. But I always think there's a way out, so it's not exactly something that I've thought about much. Lullabies aren't exactly my thing. I kind of like life and don't really want to give it up so easily."

"Easy?" Her eyes narrowed. "You think what Seline did was easy?"

"Absolutely not! What I don't understand was why she was so death-motivated in the first place!"

Nyixa frowned. "I don't really know, either. I tried to talk her out of it, but she always gave me a good reason."

"Like what?"

"Well, if you're dead then you can't tell anything, right?"

Rerem paused. "Unless you're Seline. She left you that message. She spoke to you from beyond death, in a way. Her death told you a story."

"That was Seline, though."

"Yes, yes, I know. Seline was special. She was a good person, a good woman. I miss her, too—"

"Not the way I do." Nyixa looked away.

"Nyixa—" He put a hand gently on hers. She reacted visibly to his touch, shivering from head to toe. Concerned, he drew back, moving away to give her space, but she unexpectedly spun around, clasping a hand around his arm and pulling him closer. She pressed her lips to his in a sudden vibrant and eager kiss, as if she were searching for something intangible she had lost. Rerem was shocked; before his brain could register what was happening, Nyixa pulled away, one hand pressed against her mouth, and she stood up, walking away from the couch.

She paced back and forth, her cheeks flushing red, a tirade of emotions flickering across her face. Rerem watched her, uncertain of what to say or how to react. He had never once thought that he would have been kissed by Nyixa, of all people. A colleague, a friend – a Falleen. He would never admit it aloud to her, but though he had known for a very long time that he was attracted to her, he blamed it on the characteristics of her species, telling himself that any attraction had everything to do with her pheromones tricking his mind. Relationships within the team were not worthwhile and he was very careful to set up guards so he wouldn't accidentally get the wrong idea about someone who he worked with.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Nyixa was saying over and over again, looking quite flustered. At first, Rerem thought she was speaking to him, but then it didn't quite sound right… it didn't sound like she was directing her words to him.

He stood up. "Uh… Nyixa?" he said cautiously.

She spun around, her eyes wide, her black-rooted red hair almost seeming to stand on end. "Rerem! I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

He touched her shoulder, but this time she didn't flinch away. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

"But I should. I really should. I'm – agh!" She paced across the room, pulling at her hair again and looking in the opposite direction.

Rerem paused, hoping that she was not going to break down again like she had in that locker room. He didn't want to see that side of her ever again. "Nyixa—"

"Give me a moment…" She came to a halt by the window, her fingers still rapidly combing through her hair, as if to provide some kind of distraction from her draining thoughts.

He stood and waited, hands in his pockets, leaning against the back of the couch.

"You know how you were saying that too much can happen in too little time?" Nyixa finally said.

"Yes."

Nyixa looped a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned around. There was a sad smile on her face. "I know that feeling too well. I can't, I –" She bit her lip, exhaled and forced herself to start again. "I have never been more confused in my life. Seline died – no, Seline killed herself two days ago. So much has happened since then that I've never really had a chance to… to say goodbye to her, but already I feel like she's long gone. Too much has happened. Koss and Nash are dead now and it's just us. Stars, it's just us! And for all I know, we might die today or tomorrow or, hell, even in the next five minutes and I don't know where I am or who I am or what the hell I'm doing anymore. It's been survival for so many hours, so very many hours and just that I—"

Rerem did the only thing he thought would help. He crossed the room and hugged her, wrapping her in a close, warm embrace. He kissed her cheek.

"Survival's good," he said. "Focus on that until you don't have to anymore—"

"I can't do that anymore. Not now. Seline—"

"Seline will understand," he said.

Nyixa closed her eyes. "I loved her," she whispered.

Rerem tensed, shock running through him. He had never thought… _they_ had never mentioned anything… Yet now that she mentioned it, when he thought back, there had been signs, many signs, they had just gone unnoticed because Rerem had ignored anything to do with romantic relationships and his colleagues. For maybe he was just daft, only seeing what he wanted to see. Hell, he had never been a people person. He had never truly understood relationships.

He suddenly felt a sudden inexplicable surge of envy towards Nyixa. She had been able to balance her job and a relationship, something he had always believed impossible. She had made it work, and it would have continued to work had her lover not also been a spy.

A lump formed in his throat. He had never lost a partner – a true partner. Nyixa must have been in pain this entire time, living through Seline's brutal slaughter without so much of a word.

"I am so sorry," he murmured. He hugged her again, holding her close for a long time. She didn't cry, as he had expected her to. But then what did he know? Nyixa wasn't human, he couldn't expect her to have the same reactions as the women he knew. After a while, he patted her on the back and drew away. "Maybe you should get some rest now, Nyixa—"

She shook her head. She reached out and clasped his hand to prevent him from walking away. "Seline's gone, Rerem. She gave her life for her cause. But I need someone."

Rerem blinked. Maybe it was the bluntness of her words, but whatever it was, he couldn't help it. He laughed. "Don't we all."

She cracked a smile. "Bad times make fools of us all. Who knows if we'll live to see the sun rise again."

"Aren't you being a little depressing right now?"

She put a hand gently to his face. "It's been a rather depressing day. I'm sort of wishing that I didn't get up in the morning."

"I don't think I had a morning," Rerem mused sullenly, thinking back.

"And I'm still surprised that I'm still alive," Nyixa murmured. She looked up and caught his eye.

_Oh, hell,_ Rerem thought.

People really did strange things in life-or-death situations. He had never imagined that they would have been thrown together like this, an unlikely pair. His throat was still raw from the shock of her revelation – that she had been in love with Seline. But here she was, a torn, broken woman, uncertain if she would live to see a new day. She needed someone just as badly as he did. Perhaps, if circumstances were different – no. He would not allow himself to think of "what ifs" now. He was in the present moment, and the past would always remain unchanged. Nyixa had told him that he needed to think forward, not backward. Doubtless, she had been doing that ever since Seline died.

Nyixa gently placed her arms around his neck. Without a word, she kissed him again, pressing her body against his. This kiss was deeper than their first, somehow alive and burning with their fears of what was to come and their regrets of the past. His hands slid down her back as she clung desperately to him, their loose clothing twisting about them. Their feet paced together as they slowly walked backwards into the bedroom. When they both sat down, sinking on to the edge of the bed, Nyixa drew back so she could look him in the eye.

"Problem?" she breathed.

"No," he said. "No problem." He ran a hand softly down her arm. For once, his mind truly marvelled at the beautiful, lustrous green tone her skin was. "You're beautiful."

Her expression was a little sad. "Thank you," she murmured. She kissed him again, her fingers roaming to the buttons of his shirt and undoing them. She pushed the loose material off him, she took a sharp intake of breath as she saw the scars criss-crossing his body – old wounds from old missions, mixed with the bandages he applied from new injuries he had received today.

She looked up at him. "Rerem…"

The corner of his mouth crooked into a smile. "Just some old scars."

"I never noticed."

"I never particularly gave you a reason to notice."

She gently ran a finger across one of them; he wasn't anticipating it and shivered at her touch. "I suppose each one has a story."

"Most aren't particularly exciting."

Her eyes narrowed. "They're from you doing something stupid, aren't they."

"You bet."

She smiled tightly. "You're a marked man, Rerem Anaro – in more ways than one."

"Oh, ha ha."

"I see your sense of humour is coming back."

"Weren't you the one who said that half-hearted attempts at humour are the last barrier against insanity?"

"I already thought you were insane to begin with." Despite her wry tone, there was still a solemn look in her eyes. She seemed genuinely taken aback by his scarred body, but he couldn't guess as to why. She fingered the hem of her own shirt for a moment and quickly pulled it off.

And then he knew.

A latticework of scars spiralled across her thin stomach, marks of her own trials, daily reminders of the ordeals she had suffered in the name of her beliefs. The friends she had lost, the impossible missions she had undergone. No one came out of this job unmarked, and some scars ran deep.

He knew, as he was just like her.

Rerem gazed at her, feeling her shared regret. He tried to think of something to say, but words were impossible. What could he say?

Nyixa didn't expect him to say anything. Instead, she simply took his hand, placing it on her scarred stomach. He gently traced her scars, as she had done for him.

"They all have stories," he murmured.

"Life of a spy," she said simply. Her fingers stroked through his still-damp hair. "Unfortunately, we all know how those stories end."

He shook his head. "Don't do that. Not now."

"Sorry. Kind of hard not to think about it."

"I know." She put her arms around him, cradling him gently. He kissed the side of her neck, his fingers softly running down the delicate spinal ridges at her back and circling the small scales as he marvelled at the beauty of her unordinary skin. He could see some the scars, pale green – almost white – curving around her torso. They would have once been ugly wounds; he didn't want to know how she had obtained them.

Her black-rooted red hair – how along ago had it been since she first dyed it red? He vaguely recalled her telling the team that it had been Seline's doing – was loose and damp, tumbling chaotically down her back. He had never really noticed the contrast her hair had with her skin; bright and sensual. His heart was pounding in his chest. The bedroom curtains were closed; in the filtered late afternoon light, Nyixa seemed to glow golden-green, a mesmerizing colour.

He held her close, gently stroking her cheek, marvelling at the symmetry of her subtle facial ridges. A thrill tingled down his spine. She was very much unlike any woman he had ever known before. Under his gaze, a gentle flush of red began to creep over her skin, turning green to red. But it was unlike the red he had seen before; not dark, not angry, not terrified. This was a lighter shade, somehow different, lovely and erotic.

She closed her eyes. "Rerem…"

Her lips found his and he inhaled her scent, perfumed from the soaps she had found in the fresher. They didn't bother him so much anymore; she smelled wonderful. Whether it was the soaps or just her or his mind finally going crazy, he didn't now and suddenly, he didn't care.

His fingers pressed into her back, and she gently lay back, drawing him with her. Her long hair fanned out across the pillows. Her fingers ran across his back, tracing his own scars. The touch of her fingertips set his skin ablaze. He bent his head and captured her lips with his, losing himself in the kiss that could, temporarily, blot out any fears that had been following them for the past two days.

They needed this. For just one moment, there were no stolen datafiles, no Empire and no Vader. No concerns, no sadness – just two people desperately searching for one last fleeting moment of happiness before the darkness caught them forever.


	8. What a Way to Go

_**3 hours, 21 minutes.**_

Rerem woke with a start when he heard a loud bang. His hand flew out, searching for his blaster, but it encountered a pillow instead. His bleary mind cleared and he remembered where he was.

Oh, right. He flushed. Pillow… bed… Nyixa. Right.

He sat up, trying to untangle himself from the sheets. Nyixa was striding around the room only partially dressed, trying to find something suitable to steal from the owner of the apartment. She had evidently decided that the bright shirt she had been wearing before was not going to cut it. As it turned out, most of the female clothing was also brightly coloured, so she had laid out a selection of smaller male clothes, even though they wouldn't fit her as well as he liked. The bang, Rerem discovered, had been her slamming a drawer shut in irritation.

"I think that's the longest you've ever slept in one go," she said, shrugging on a loose black shirt. It fell to her knees. She clucked her tongue at the impracticality and took it off, throwing it aside.

Rerem groaned and passed a hand over his face. It was dark in the bedroom – night had fallen and their only source of light now came in the form of lamps, which Nyixa had turned on.

"How long was I out?"

"Four hours, give or take."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. Night." She pulled on a different shirt and a new pair of pants, both black. Though they were still big, she seemed satisfied. "I don't really want to look at the time."

Rerem stared at her for a moment and then moved lethargically to the edge of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her watching him, her expression unreadable. For the most fleeting of moments, he thought he saw her smile, but then the moment snapped and they both looked away. There was no point on talking about what had passed between them. It had only been a moment – a lovely moment – but a moment nonetheless. With the threat of Vader and the Imperials and the revival of their mission looming over their heads, dalliances meant nothing. It was as if it hadn't happened at all.

That was the opinion they were both forced to take. Still, Rerem couldn't completely hide the slight feelings of disappointment even from himself. It had been nice. It was nice to forget, to let go of your troubles, once in a while.

Nyixa collected his clothes from a pile on the floor and shoved them into his arms. "Get dressed," she said. "We need to get going."

Rerem shrugged into his clothes as she left the bedroom, padding around the apartment collecting items they would need. Try as he might, he couldn't quite shake the memories out of his head.

_This is why sleeping with your colleagues is a bad idea,_ he berated himself. _It's kriffing distracting once you wake up—_

A realization hit him.

"I was asleep for _four kriffing hours?"_ he shouted, pelting out of the room.

Nyixa was in the kitchen, gulping down water and a mix of vegetables and meat. The black datapad containing the precious datafiles was on the table next to her. She glanced at him as he rushed into the room. "Yeah."

"I don't do that."

"You just did," Nyixa said with a sweetly fake smile. "And it will prove to be a lot better for you than those short power naps – or whatever the hell you call them – are. Hell, Rerem, sometimes you're like a walking corpse, the way you run off lack of sleep. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No," he said bluntly. "And I've never heard you being so chatty." He caught her wrist. "Nyixa?"

She couldn't avoid his gaze. They looked at each other for a moment. Something flickered in her expression. Rerem couldn't help but wonder whether she felt guilty, as if she had betrayed Seline's memory by being with him. But even if she did, she let no sign of it into her expression.

"Eat something," she said, shoving a plate full of food at him. "You'll need it."

He took a fork and stabbed a piece of meat with it.

Nyixa smiled faintly. "Good." Her fingers tapped lightly on the surface of the table. "I suppose we're going to head to Marxes' now."

"Yeah." He chewed and swallowed. "See if we can't smuggle ourselves onboard those smuggling ships, as planned."

"And what if Vader's there?"

Rerem accidentally sloshed water out of his cup as he tried to take a drink. "Then we'll run. We'll go someplace else. There's always another way out."

"So optimistic."

"It helps."

"I know. You keep telling me that." She sighed. "Whatever you do, just don't get a protocol droid to calculate our chances of survival. I already know that this plan of yours has a one in a billion chances of working."

* * *

_**2 hours, 10 minutes.**_

The apartment building was silent as they sneaked out, refreshed and newly clothed. They had checked all of their equipment and made sure their blasters were charged. Nyixa had double-checked their comm system, so should they be separated they wouldn't lose contact.

"Keep this on you at all times," she had told him sternly, handing him his comm. "If you lose it, I'll kill you."

"All right, all right," he had answered, slipping it into his ear. "No need for a case of friendly murder."

There was no one in the lobby, aside from the woman manning the front desk – and she was soundly asleep, her snores filling the wide space. Rerem and Nyixa left unnoticed, heading to the docking bay.

Unfortunately, there were people waiting for them. As soon as they entered, Rerem knew that something was wrong. He turned around, drawing his blaster, only to be hit sharply in the head with something dull and hard. He collapsed to the ground in a daze, his ears ringing and his vision blurry.

Shadowy figures stood over him. He heard Nyixa shout and a blaster went off. Moments later, he heard her collapse on the cold floor of the docking bay.

A blaster clicked. Rerem felt its cold barrel pressing against the side of his forehead.

"Boss wants to see you," a gruff voice said.

"Good," he managed to spit out, his voice slurred. "'Cause I want to see him." He tired to slowly rise, but the blaster held to his head kept him on his knees.

"Boss wants payment," the voice continued.

Rerem sighed. He should have known better – Marxes _had_ sent others besides Aaven to hunt them down. He probably didn't trust Rerem to keep his word.

"So?"

"So, you're gonna give it to him. Along with that antidote you've got hidden somewhere."

"Tell Marxes to put us on a ship first," Rerem grunted. _"Then_ he'll get his blasted antidote—" He cut off as the blaster pressed more firmly into his forehead.

"Boss wants the antidote _now,"_ the man said.

"Rerem," Nyixa started, but she was ignored.

"Your 'boss' can shrivel up," Rerem said. "I get what I want before he does, otherwise he'll die."

"So will you."

"We're even then. Get me on Marxes' ships."

"Give us the antidote – or we'll take it from you!"

"It's in a syringe, you dolt," Rerem said. "Syringes can be broken. I'll crush them before you can take them, and then where will Marxes be?"

The man cursed and gave an intelligible shout.

"Rerem!" Nyixa yelled. "Do not—"

"Keep that one quiet!" the man with the blaster shouted, rounding on his colleagues. "She's one of them Falleen. Toy with your emotions, if she can. Convince you to do stuff you don't want to. Did it to the boss, I saw her."

Rerem squinted. His vision cleared enough to see Nyixa struggling against two heavy man who had her hands twisted behind her back. For whatever reasons, they were trying to gag her and she was not appreciating it. She kicked one in the stomach, sending him spiralling away with a pained grunt, but she only earned her own blaster to the head.

"Leave her alone," Rerem said. "Marxes is only really interested in me. Nyixa has nothing to do with the poison I gave him—"

"She was there," the man said. "I saw her. She has as much to do with it as you, Rebel scum. Now, give me the antidote."

Rerem glared up at his captor, finally able to see him clearly. He was a small man, unshaven and dirty, his fingers decorated with a series of grubby rings. "That's a little hard to do with a blaster to the head," he said.

The man wasn't pleased. "Do you know how easy it is to shoot a man in the head? Or better yet, I'll shoot _her_ in the head and be done with the stinking Falleen—"

"Take me to Marxes," Rerem growled. "Now."

The man looked down at him and smirked. "I give the orders, chief," he said. Gold teeth glinted in his mouth. He withdrew the blaster and began to walk away.

"Hey—!"

The man spun around, swinging the blaster in a long arc. It hit Rerem in the side of the head and the collapsed on the ground, immediately blacking out.

* * *

_**1 hour, 44 minutes.**_

Rerem awoke when a splash of cold water drenched his face. He was sitting on a chair in a dark, unfamiliar room, his hands bound behind his back with binders. His weapons had been taken away. It took a moment to re-orientate himself, but the first thing he noticed was the smell.

Marxes' hide-out. The stench was unmistakable.

Once his eyes adjusted, he could see the crime boss, pale-faced and sweaty, sitting frigidly on a chair in front of him, surrounded by his cronies. Marxes looked thin and frail, his skin slack and more white than blue. The poison was taking hold.

Rerem smirked. They might be able to get somewhere now.

"Stop laughing," Marxes grunted, except it came out more as a whisper than a grunt and it was not at all intimidating.

"Thanks for bringing us here, Marxes," Rerem said. "It saved us the trouble of getting here ourselves."

"Shut up!" Marxes' head fell on his chest. One of his bodyguards lifted his head for him before stalking over to Rerem and slapping him across the face.

"Ouch," Rerem said. It had hurt, but the more flippant his attitude, the more riled Marxes would become – which was exactly what Rerem wanted. His eyes quickly scanned the room; Nyixa was nowhere to be seen.

"Looking for your friend?" Marxes asked. "She's not here."

Rerem's jaw clenched. "Where is she?" He could feel the comm unit still in his ear, but with his hands tied, he had no way of activating it.

"She's… ah… entertaining a few people right now," Marxes said. "She'll be along shortly – if you give me the antidote."

"Not going to happen, Marxes. Put us both on your ships alive and well and _then_ we'll talk antidotes."

Marxes struggled to sit up straighter, but all he managed was to slum down further in his chair. "You're at a disadvantage, Anaro," he said. "I could shoot you right now and take the intel you recovered—"

"And then you wouldn't get your precious antidote. You wouldn't live long enough to enjoy the benefits of turning it back over to the Empire."

Marxes tried – and failed, again – to push his sliding body back up. Finally, one of his bodyguards intervened and helped him. "Anaro, I'm trying to be nice."

"This isn't pleasant for me, either, Marxes."

"You poisoned me!"

"You were going to kill me!"

"Rerem, Rerem." Marxes shook his head. "That's just business. Don't hold it against me."

"I don't really like people trying to kill me," Rerem snapped. "Now, tell your men to let me out of this thing."

"No," Marxes said. "I'm not done with you yet."

Rerem sighed. "If you think you can get away with torture, it's useless. I'm already in enough pain as it is." That was true – he had a splitting headache. "Release me and I'll give you your precious antidote."

"I've got a better idea," Marxes said. He pointed at Rerem. "Search him."

Rerem rolled his eyes. "You're only thinking of that now?"

"No, we already searched you, but we didn't find anything. So, we're searching you again."

Rerem was roughly pushed out of his chair and made to stand. One of Marxes' bodyguards – a great, hulking man about twice his boss' size – searched him, but came up with nothing.

He threw Rerem back down in the chair and shook his head in Marxes' direction.

"Nothing, eh?" Marxes clucked his tongue. "Where's the antidote, Anaro? No antidote, no ships. Oh, and I'll kill Nyixa for the hell of it, too, if her little visitors haven't done so already."

Rerem's eyes snapped to Marxes. "What the hell have you done with her?"

Marxes shrugged. "Some of my men took a little liking to her last time she was here. I had her locked in a room with them."

A twisting pain knifed his stomach. "You sick son of a—"

"Oh, please, spare me the insults, Anaro," Marxes said, waving a hand. "I would have had her myself if someone hadn't poisoned me. If you cared that much about her – which, frankly, I'm surprised that you do and I'm _thrilled_ that my little plan is having such a wonderful effect on you – you probably shouldn't have come to me for help in the first place."

Rerem swore loudly, seething.

Marxes tutted. "Eh, language, Anaro, language. Now… the antidote. Where did you hide it?"

"I didn't hide it anywhere, I—" Rerem stopped short. He paled. The last time he remembered looking at his little collection of poisons and antidotes had been at the lodge, before Aaven arrived. And then the Imps had attacked…

He knew exactly what happened. There was no antidote – it was gone. He had left it at the lodge.

Marxes was a dead man – and if the crime boss had his way, so was Rerem.

_Kriff, kriff, kriff!_

The plan was in ruins now. Even if he somehow managed to get out of this mess, with no antidote, Marxes wouldn't let them anywhere near his ships. He and Nyixa were permanently stranded on Coruscant now, unless they managed to fight their way through lines of Marxes' men and hijack one of his ships.

And he didn't even know where Nyixa was, or how much danger she was in. Or if she was still alive. Marxes could very well have them both killed right here and right now – they didn't even need the Imperials to come along and finish the job.

"I'm waiting, Anaro."

"I…" Rerem raised his head. "Let Nyixa go, and I'll tell you where it is."

"Uh, let me think about this one." Marxes feigned a look of contemplation and then flared his eyes. "NO!"

His burly bodyguard withdrew a knife and crossed the room, resting the blade against the side of Rerem's neck. His skin flinched from the blade's coldness.

"Marxes, I can't tell you where the—"

The knife pricked his skin. He felt the wound sting.

"All right, all right!" Rerem shouted. "I'll tell you where it is."

Marxes raised an eyebrow, his fingers tapping on his chair's armrests. "I'm waiting, Anaro."

"It's at a lodge near the Crimson District. Probably somewhere on the floor. Possibly… possibly trampled by Imperial agents."

The tapping stopped. _"What?"_

"It's probably still there, Marxes, you just have to go and look for—"

"You destroyed it!" he shouted. He lurched forwards, stumbling on to the floor, unable to support his own wait. A hand waved at his bodyguard, trying to snatch a blaster. "Give me that – _give me that!"_ He pulled the blaster free from his guard's grasp and aimed it Rerem.

Marxes pulled the trigger – Rerem tipped his chair sideways and fell out of it.

No blaster bolt came. Marxes was too weak to fire a weapon.

"_NO!"_ he shouted. "I want… I want…" He was breathing heavily, barely able to spout out his own words. "I – WANT – TO – SHOOT – HIM!"

Rerem scrambled to his feet. Marxes' guards had reacted to his command, and both fired shots. Rerem threw himself backwards, skidding into the wall and hitting the control for the door with the back of his hand. One of the shots grazed him, but didn't cause too much damage. He rolled to a crouch on the floor as the door flew open.

"SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!" Marxes yelled. "I want him gone! He's killed me, damn it! Killed me! Wait!"

The guards lowered their blasters.

Marxes pointed at Rerem. "No more," he said. "No ships, no nothing, I—" He gasped for breath, forcing himself to pause. His hands waved spastically at his sides.

Rerem stood. "I'm sorry Marxes," he said. "I never intended to harm you. I did not lose the antidote on purpose."

"Not that it ever matter to you whether I lived or not," Marxes spat. There was foam in his mouth.

"I am sorry!" Rerem said. "But at the end of the day, we might as well all be dead."

"You meant to kill me from the start!" Marxes snarled.

"Oh, don't be so self-important," Rerem said. "I didn't care if you lived or died. You were just a way out – one that obviously won't work anymore."

"No ships!" Marxes shouted.

Rerem nodded. _Unless we manage to hijack them,_ he thought, already trying to come up with an escape plan that involved hijacking. But first he had to find Nyixa. It was useless to escape without her – she had the datapad. She had the stolen datafiles. She was more important that he was at this moment.

And she was locked in a room with a bunch of Marxes' nastiest thugs.

He had to get her out.

"Marxes, you have really screwed us over," Rerem snarled.

The crime boss was still trying to draw breath to give his next order, but his bodyguards were already advancing on Rerem. He steadied himself, ready to throw himself aside when the inevitable blaster shots came. Hopefully, his luck would hold and he would be able to dodge them again.

_BANG!_

The shot did not come from in front of him. A blast of red light flew past Rerem from the open door, striking Marxes in the chest. The weakened crime lord crumpled in his chair, blood running from his nose. He was dead. Two more blaster shots rang out and his bodyguards also crumpled.

Rerem spun around, expecting to see Nyixa, but instead half a dozen Imperial agents flew into the room and seized him around the shoulders.

A seventh entered. He held a smoking blaster – he was the one who had fired. Judging from the markings on his uniform, he was the one in charge of this group.

"Rerem Anaro," he said silkily, "captured at last."

Rerem recognized his voice – he had heard it through the maintenance door at the lodge. He tried to free himself, but with bound hands, it was nearly impossible.

"Stop struggling," the Imperial said, "or I'll be forced to kill you and Lord Vader will be most unhappy. You have led us on a merry chase, Anaro. We're glad to see that you're still alive – our cause is not entirely lost. The deaths of your companions certainly caused us some concern."

"Good for them," Rerem spat.

The Imperial's eyes narrowed. "Bring him," he snapped, stalking out of the room. His voice rang out behind him as he left. "It's time to stop running, Anaro. You should feel honoured. Lord Vader has been expecting you."

* * *

_**O hours, 51 minutes.**_

Rerem was roughly escorted down the hall. There was no mistake about it – Marxes' entire complex was overrun with Imperials. He wasn't sure how they had gotten here, but it didn't matter – someone had leaked information to them and now here they were, mucking up the situation. He didn't say anything as he was pushed and pulled along through the halls; there was nothing to say that wouldn't put him on the receiving end of physical punishment. Imps never handled captured Rebels with care.

The comm in his ear flared and crackled to life.

"_Rerem? Rerem, can you hear me?"_

Nyixa. She was alive.

"Yeah," he breathed, trying to speak as inconspicuously as possible. "Captured by Imps. Can't talk."

"_Okay, I'll see if I can bust you out." _

"No!" he hissed. "Get intel away!"

"_I can't. The ships are all overtaken by Imperials. Marxes' place is completely ransacked and his people are being taken away as prisoners. There are a few who are still free, but they're running wild. Not sure what's happened to them. I'm watching the docking bay right now – there's no way we can hijack one of those ships on our own, if that's what you're thinking. I need your codes – the ones Aaven gave you." _

Rerem froze, panic rising. The Imperials shouted and pushed him in the back, instructing him to keep moving. He didn't know if he still had the codes on him. Had Marxes had them removed? They were contained in a single, white chip hidden in his clothes. They could have missed it. He _hoped_ they had missed it.

It was their only solution now. Get the codes, get the datafiles – and transmit them to the Bothans.

At least then they could die in peace knowing that the Imps didn't get their precious intel back into Empire hands.

"I'll see what I can do. Where are you?"

A hand jerked him to a halt. An Imperial agent looked him up and down, trying to pinpoint what was out of place.

"Who are you talking to?"

"The little voices in my head," Rerem snapped. "All Rebels are crazy, or didn't you know that?"

"_Okay, give me a second. Keep them talking, I'm going to try to trace your comm signal to find you…"_

_Hurry up, Nyixa,_ Rerem thought. The Imperial, already irritated by his nonchalant attitude, struck out at him. Rerem dodged, but was buffered between two of his guards and the blow struck him in the face anyway. He lashed out with his feet, kicking them in the lower legs. The agents hobbled with pain, withdrawing their blasters, turning them on to stun.

_Hell, no!_

Rerem stopped struggling and stood still. The last thing he wanted was to lose consciousness again.

The Imperial leading the group noticed. "Very good," he said. "You catch on quickly."

"Just trying to avoid as many repercussions as possible."

The Imperial's eyes narrowed. "I still have half a mind to stun you anyway. It would make my life a lot easier. However, Lord Vader does not have an infinite amount of time. He would prefer not to have to wait around for you to regain consciousness. He wishes to question you as quickly as possible."

_Question me, my foot._ _Tear as many Rebel secrets out of my mind as possible is more like it._

He remained in relative silence – with the occasional quip, merely to spite them – as they continued to lead him through the halls. Rerem was counting the passing minutes in his head. How long would it take Nyixa to find him? She was fast with computers and fast on her feet, but if she had been injured by Marxes' men, then she would be slower. He wasn't even certain how far away the docking bay was from here. Marxes' complex was fairly extensive. When they had been here before, they had only seen one meagre part of it. Who knew how long it took to get from one end to the other. Already he and his Imperial guards had been walking for a good amount of time—

They came to a stop.

"What was that?" the lead Imperial said.

"I don't know, sir," one of the men holding Rerem replied.

"Ilis, go check," the leader said. "I don't want any of the crime lord's scummy minions sneaking up on us."

Ilis raised his blaster and rounded the corner. A moment later, they heard a sickening thud of something hitting him and the sound of a human body crumpling to the floor.

Rerem smirked.

The lead Imperial froze.

Something whistled as it flew through the air. A moment later, one of Rerem's guards collapsed, a piece of silver metal embedded in his chest. Chaos erupted. Most of the guards ran forward to encounter their unseen menace; those that remained tried to subdue Rerem, who had taken advantage of the situation. He lashed out at the feet of the nearest guard, tripping him. Leaning backwards, he picked up the man's blaster with his bound hands and fired, hoping that the bolt went in the right direction. He shot a glance over his shoulder and received confirmation from the body on the floor that the shot had worked.

Spinning around, he was just in time to see two more of the deadly metal pieces come flying around the corner. Rerem ducked just in time to have one of them go flying over his head. The other struck another Imperial.

Then Nyixa came flying around the corner, armed with her blaster and her vibroblade. She swiped the legs out from beneath the remaining Imperials, and shot two quick blasts. They went down.

She rushed forwards and quickly disabled the binders around his hands.

"Thank the stars," she said. "I wasn't sure if I was going to catch up with you or not."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Where did you get the throwy things?"

She grinned. "I got them off one of Marxes' guys. After I knocked him unconscious, of course. Marxes made a big mistake letting him guard me. Pheromone him once and he was under my thumb."

Rerem chuckled. "Good to see you putting your talents to use."

"Do you have the chip?"

Now that his hands were free, Rerem could search his clothes. He found the pocket where he had stashed it earlier in the day and for a moment his fingers closed around nothing but material, causing him to panic. But no, the chip was just evading him. He withdrew it and showed it to her.

"Good," Nyixa said. "I know where the terminal is. We can us it, it'll be powerful enough. The only problem is—"

A crash echoed down the hall, followed by loud voices. They both flinched.

"—the Imps have been all over it," she finished.

"Tell me about it."

A blaster shot rang out. Nyixa cried out in pain, stumbling to the side and keeling over by the wall. Rerem spun, his eyes flaring – the Imperial leader was still alive, crawling across the floor, one hand on the trigger to his blaster. Rerem stormed over and kicked the weapon out of his hand before firing a final shot into the Imperial's back.

Nyixa groaned, one hand pressed to her side. Rerem holstered his blaster and rushed back to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, crouching down. "Let me see it—"

"I'm fine, it's nothing—"

"Let me see it!"

"No!"

She fell over, gasping in pain. Her hand fell away. Green blood stained her clothes; for a moment, it looked as though part of her side had been blasted away, but the closer Rerem looked, he saw that the damage wasn't quite as extensive. It was still bad.

"Kriff, Nyixa," he said.

She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing. "I'll be fine… in a moment." Slowly, she tried to rise, but Rerem caught her.

"Stay where you are, you can barely move as it is!"

"I can't… I have to get up!" She pushed herself again, using the wall as support. Despite Rerem's warnings, she manage to support her full weight and stumbled off down the hall on tottering feet, her hand clutching her side.

"Nyixa, you'll bleed to death if you–"

"Oh, like that's a rare thing for people on our team," she said.

He grunted. "Stop it. Here, let me help you." He put her arm around his shoulders and took some of her weight.

"Thanks," she said begrudgingly.

"See, it's not that bad."

"You'll get us both killed doing this. We can't move fast enough. The Imps will start to wonder what's happened to you—"

"Forget the Imps. We're going to get out of here."

"How?"

"I don't know," Rerem said as they tottered down the hall, "I'm still working it out."

"Well, work it out faster, then!"

"I don't see you coming up with any ideas!"

Echoes of running footsteps floated after them. Rerem ignored the sound; the Imperials could run around the complex as much as they wanted. If they got close, he'd shoot them until they shot him. By now, it was as simple as that.

"Rerem, you should just leave me here."

"No! Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid," she said. "You're the one being stupid."

"Yeah, you've told me that how many times now?"

"I'm wounded, I'm no good anymore. That Imp got me. Let me go."

He turned to her. "I won't!" he shouted.

"Fine, then!" she yelled back. "Get yourself killed doing this, see if I care!"

They fell silent and continued to hobble along their way. Finally, Nyixa stopped moving and shoved him off of her. She collapsed at the wall, her head lowered, gasping for breath.

"Nyixa—"

"Just go, Rerem," she said. She raised her eyes. "I'll be fine."

He knew damn well that she wouldn't be. "I can't."

"Just leave!"

"I won't!"

She screamed, withdrawing her blaster and firing it at him. The shots missed, flying over his shoulder. She gasped for breath and dropped the weapon. "I'm… sorry," she said. "Really sorry."

He looked down at her, his mind running in every direction. There had to be another way to get her out of here alive. He couldn't stand by and have another one of his colleagues killed.

Not again.

If she did, then Seline… Koss… _Nash. _They all would have died in vain.

"If you get the intel out of here, they're deaths won't be in vain," Nyixa said, her eyes closed.

"What?"

She smirked. "I know what you're thinking, Rerem. It's plastered all over your face."

"Oh."

She opened her eyes and dug through her clothes. She found the black datapad; its surface was slippery, coated in the green blood oozing from her wound. "Here." She tossed it in the air; he caught it. "I'm sorry I can't come with you any further."

Rerem looked down at the datapad. "Nyixa, I—"

"You can," she said. "You have the codes. Here, take this, too." She threw him a small silver disc. "It's a bypass chip. Put that into any terminal and it will decode any security system. I made it myself, I know it'll work. The terminal you need is down that corridor all the way to the end. Turn right, go up the stairs and it's the second room on the left. I downloaded a map onto the datapad; you should be able to access it if you get lost. But don't get lost. You'll waste time… if you get lost."

He was still standing motionless, looking at her, dumbfounded. This was not happening.

"Nyixa, Vader's here in the complex."

"Oh, I know." Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at him. "I'm going to wait for him right here. He'll come. And then I'm going to kick his armoured backside all the way to Tatooine."

"You're not going to—"

"Rerem – shut up."

He still refused to move.

The sounds of approaching Imperials were coming closer every second. Nyixa raised her hand and glanced back down the corridor.

"I've done all I can," she said. "I just hope that it's enough."

"Nyixa—"

"Now get going." She grinned, leaning back against the wall. "See you on the other side."

His throat was very dry. He nodded.

Rerem turned and began to run down the hall. The further he went, the more he was obscured in shadow. He pattered to a halt and glanced back. Nyixa was drawing herself to her feet again, leaning against the wall. She was determined to face her enemies standing up; determined to go out in a blaze of glory. No wound inflicted by some Imperial agent was going to stop her – she was going to come face to face with the Emperor's right-hand man himself.

"_You're not running, Rerem."_

He yelped in surprise.

"_Your comm is still working."_

"Oh."

"_Get going, idiot."_

"Going now, Nyixa." He began to run again.

"_Good man. And Rerem?"_

"Yes?"

"_No matter what happens—" _she paused, taking another gasp of breath—_"thank you. It's been fun."_


	9. The Final Half Hour

_**0 hours, 29 minutes. **_

If Rerem had wanted to keep his peace of mind, he knew he should have turned off his comm and thrown it away. He knew that he would never see Nyixa again – she was as goo as dead the moment she refused his help and collapsed at the side of the corridor. She was dead, just like his other fallen colleagues.

But against all rationality, he kept it on, hoping against reason that she would somehow be ignored by the oncoming swarm of Imperials and make it out alive.

Keeping the comm on was one of the worst decisions he had ever made in his life.

Rerem encountered no one as he sprinted to the end of the long hall. When he came to the intersection Nyixa had mentioned, he turned around the corner and continued to run. The datapad and Nyixa's bypass chip jangled in his pocket, keeping the panic of accidentally losing them at bay.

He almost collided with a wall when the last thing he wanted to hear crackled over the comm.

Vader's voice.

_Lord Vader._

The Imperials had reached Nyixa and they were not going to be kind to her.

"_So you are the young Falleen who has been causing me so much trouble."_

"_I'm such an awful troublemaker."_

Rerem smiled at Nyixa's tone. _Good for you._

"_And yet you are grievously injured. If you cooperate, we can make sure that you are well cared for."_

"_Well cared for where, exactly? Prison? No thanks… I think I'll pass."_

"_Pity."_

"_Not really. I'd rather die than accept hospitality from the murderer of my people."_

"_I cleared up that dreadful business years ago. The Falleen homeworld is fine."_

"_But we do not forget."_

There was a sudden movement and a thud – then Nyixa was choking and gasping for breath. Rerem froze, unable to move, only capable of listening. He thought for a moment of turning around and running back, but he knew it would do no good. He must press onwards.

He forced his protesting legs to continue on down the hall. He had to get to that transmitter. Aaven's codes were their last hope. This intel could be the Bothan SpyNet's trouble now.

"_You can stop that unpleasant sound, girl. No one is going to come and help you. I see your other friend, the one we have also been chasing, won't come back for you. Smart man."_

"_Don't speak of my colleague like that!"_

"_Spit as much as you like, it only makes you more disgusting, girl."_

"_LET – ME – GO!"_

Rerem almost tore the comm from his ear as Nyixa's voice deafened him. He heard her cry out in pain and there was a ghastly thud as she dropped to the floor.

_I'm so sorry,_ he thought. _I shouldn't have left you there to this. _

He forced himself to continue on.

"_I am not going to let you run away, nor am I going to let you die. If you die, I'll only have to hunt down your friend. If you behave well, I will consider letting him live."_

"… _you mean if I tell you what you want to know. Sithspit."_

"_Stubborn as always."_

Up ahead, the corridor became a little lighter. Rerem ran out of the darkness, passing another intersection. Suddenly, he felt someone's hand on his shoulder and he was yanked backwards into the darkness. A fist sank into his stomach. Grunting, Rerem flipped around, striking out at his attacker. It was one of Marxes' men.

"Whoa, whoa, stop it!" Rerem shouted. He ducked as the man swung a blade at his face. "I'm on your side!"

"You killed our boss!" the man spat.

"That loyalty is exactly what's going to get you killed," Rerem snapped. "Marxes was a rotten man."

"He paid us!"

Rerem shrugged. "Okay, yes, maybe that's a good reason to follow him, but that doesn't mean you have to kill me!"

"You led Imperials to us!" the man yelled.

Rerem ducked and the man somersaulted over him.

"_Your team has proven quite frustrating, Falleen. You keep killing yourselves whenever we get close to cracking you. Don't think that I'll give you the chance to do the same."_

"_Try me."_

"_Believe me, girl, I will."_

The man pushed himself off the corridor's wall, thrusting himself back towards Rerem. Rerem caught his arm and threw him with as much force as he could, knocking the weapon out of his hand. Something cracked as the man slammed down on the hard floor. He coughed and groaned, struggling to crawl towards his fallen knife. Rerem rushed forward and hurriedly snatched up the blade.

"Thanks for this," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to save the galaxy."

He ran off, sprinting again. There was a dull pain in his stomach where the man had punched him. He looked down and saw that blood was seeping through his clothes; the wounds he had patched up earlier must have re-opened, having not been given enough time to heal. The pain was low and easily dealt with, but at the sight of his own blood, Rerem already felt weakened.

The voices continued to echo on in his ear, though he knew he had missed part of the conversation when he was attacked.

"_I admit that you were quite difficult to track at times. My troops almost had you at that lodge in Lower Coruscant, but sadly they misinterpreted your actions and you escaped. We would not have been able to find you again had it not been for a friend of yours."_

Rerem tensed, but he forced himself to keep going. _No._

"…_who?" _Nyixa's voice was slurred. She sounded like she was slipping into unconsciousness.

"_A Bothan of a certain reputation. She was very... forthwith with us."_

_Damn it, Aaven!_ Rerem cursed. So that was how they found Marxes. Aaven had given them away. He skidded to a halt. Had Aaven purposefully betrayed them? If so, then the codes were completely worthless. If he sent the datafiles with them now, then they would just end up back in Imperial hands. But if the information had been coaxed out of her, if she had been tortured – if _Vader_ had caught her, then that was a different matter entirely.

Rerem paused, freezing in the hallway, uncertain if he could move in either direction. He waited, listening to Vader's voice.

"_She… helped you?"_

"_In a manner of speaking. Bothans are very useful – the Rebel Alliance knows that, otherwise they wouldn't keep paying them to keep track of movements within the Empire for them. She helped us, just as you will now help us."_

"… _not on your life."_

"_I can be very persuasive."_

"_Not persuasive enough!"_

A shattering cry pierced Rerem's ear; the sound of Nyixa's voice caused him to drop to his knees. There was a deadly crunch; he didn't even want to imagine what had happened. Anger burned in the pit of his stomach; he ripped the comm out of his ear. He couldn't bear to hear anymore. Whether Nyixa had followed Seline's example or not, Rerem didn't want to know. She was dead now.

He was the last man standing.

He gripped the datapad in his pocket. Whether Aaven had worked for the Imperials or not, he had no choice. There was only one way he could get the datafiles out of here to the Alliance and he had to take the chance that Aaven's codes were the real thing. If he didn't try, then nothing would happen and the datafiles would end up in Vader's hands. The Dark Lord was coming for him now, he knew it. He had to be quick.

Rerem spun around and began to run again.

A shot rang out. A burning pain flared in his right shoulder and he pitched forwards into the hall, dropping his blaster. He smashed his nose against the floor as he skidded along it and rolled to a halt.

* * *

_**0 hours, 13 minutes. **_

A single Imperial agent came out of the darkness, blaster in hand. He kicked Rerem in the side, rolling his prone body over with a booted foot. A pool of blood began to seep out from under him.

"So," the agent said. "We finally caught you, Rebel."

Rerem blinked. There was blood in his eyes. His entire back seared and there was something sticky in his throat. He coughed, trying to spit it out.

"None of that!" the agent snapped, pressing his boot against Rerem's chest. "Don't move!"

Seconds ticked in his mind as Rerem stared up blankly at his captor. His mind was blurry; it was hard to think. It would be so much easier to close his eyes and lose himself in the blackness. He would never have to wake up again...

"How pathetic," the agent sneered. "Too weak to even say anything. And to think it took so many of us to take you down—"

Something snapped within him. Rerem's hand inched into his pocket, unnoticed by the gloating Imperial. He seized a knife by the handle and, in one smooth motion, drew it out and flung it at his attacker. The Imperial's laughter died; he was struck in the chest and collapsed on the floor.

Coughing and wiping blood off his face from his broken nose, Rerem pressed a hand against the side of the wall and forced himself to stand. He was almost there. Just a few more yards and he would be at the right place.

The Imperial's eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"Piece of advice," Rerem said as he began to hobble away, trailing blood behind him, "only taunt your enemy when you feel like getting yourself killed. Otherwise, it's a bad idea. Along with…" He paused, feeling his energy drain by the second. "… along with… a lot of other things. Like… keeping comms in your ears. Distracting…"

He shook his head and pushed forward, stumbling along the hall. His back seared with pain; he felt like there was a gaping hole where his right shoulder blade should be, and for all he knew, there was one.

* * *

_**0 hours, 7 minutes.**_

The transmitter was located in a small room. When Rerem stumbled up to it, his ears were ringing and his vision was blurring. His mind was focused on only one thing – transmit the datafiles, and then that was it. He could lie down. He could sleep.

Hell knew he deserved it. It was the only thing he wanted now. In other days, he might have still tried to escape with his life, but now he couldn't find the energy. He was been run ragged. He was exhausted. He was tired of being chased. Those were the Empire's tactics. They hunted you until you were to exhausted to continue running, and then they pounced.

He knew that it was all going to end sometime. As soon as Seline had taken the datafiles, she had condemned them all to death. He had been as good as dead from the moment he had found Seline's body.

He wanted it to end, and if it was going to end here, now was as good a time and place as any. If he died before Vader got her, all the better. He had no desire to face the man who was at the heart of all this. Vader was directly responsible for his entire team's death. If there was one last thing Rerem wanted to accomplish with his life, it was to rob Vader the satisfaction of coming to face and killing the entire team.

He was already bleeding to death. If Vader didn't show up soon, he'd be gone anyway.

Rerem drew up against the computer. He pressed his hands against the table, almost doubled over it in pain. He fumbled at his clothes, trying to withdraw the datapad and Aaven's codes. He found them, but his hands were trembling too much. He concentrated, trying to calm his nerves enough to grab hold of the two items and shove them into the computer.

_Come on, come on! This has to work!_

The computer flashed something across its screen. He swore – damn Marxes and his security codes. Rerem fumbled for the small silver disc Nyixa had passed to him; he hadn't had to use it yet, but hopefully it would be able to bypass the security system here. Otherwise – well, he wouldn't think about that. It would only distract him.

There was a noise down the corridor. Rerem ignored it and shoved the bypass chip into the computer. Its screen flashed again, scrolling through options, and then gave him the correct screen.

Rerem leaned forward, blinking his eyes to clear his vision. Where was it? The key to sending the datafiles—

"So you are the one behind this aggravating band of spies."

He froze, Vader's voice ringing in his ears.

Rerem found he couldn't move. His body was frozen, cut off from his mind's control. Something else was influencing him to move when he didn't want to, forcing him to turn around, away from the computer.

Vader stood in the entrance to the room, cloaked in shadows. Rerem had only heard stories about him; he had never seen him. The man was much more imposing than he ever thought he could be – too inhumanely tall, his breath methodically echoing around him. Worst was his armour; Rerem hated being unable to see his opponent's face.

"Vader," he said.

"You have been a thorn in the Emperor's side for the past two days, Rerem Anaro," he said. "Your team has disposed of many valuable agents. I will ensure that nothing of the sort will come from you again."

"There's not much left here that you have to ensure." Rerem glanced at the computer green in his peripheral vision. It was right there – the key he had to press to send the datafiles soaring towards what he hoped was the Bothan SpyNet. But he couldn't command his body to move and he was steadily weakening…

Sticky blood trickled down his back. He shivered.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are the one who has the stolen datafiles?" Vader said.

"No."

"Liar. They are right behind you."

Rerem pushed to regain control of his body. Why couldn't he move? Was Vader doing this do him or had his time finally run out?

"Then maybe you should let me know when you're about to ask a rhetorical question," he said. His fingers flexed. He could move them, if he concentrated on them. Just a bit further…

Vader held up a hand. Rerem was frozen, but he refused to submit.

"_No!"_ he shouted, grimacing with pain. He struggled, gasping for air. Whatever was being done to him, he didn't care to find out. He had to send the datafiles. He was so close. He had to send them.

Vader stepped forwards, his armour clanking as he walked further into the room. Rerem felt the pressure on his body suddenly release. He spun around, his hand shooting out. He punched the key.

The screen brightened and a message telling him that the files had been transferred illuminated on the screen.

Laughter bubbled up at the back of Rerem's throat. He collapsed by the desk, one hand still gripping on to the edge as he hit the floor.

Done. The files were gone.

They were the Bothans' problem now. Not his.

He was free.

Free to live; free to die. Free from the profession he both loved and hated for the first time since childhood.

Vader stood in the centre of the room, his heavy breathing echoing around the place. "What have you done?"

Rerem couldn't stop laughing. "You're too late, my lord," he said, freely gasping in his last breaths. "It's gone. Whatever it was, the Rebel Alliance will know of it."

"Fool!"

Rerem felt his body fly up in the air and slam back down on the floor. Something cracked and pain shot up his spine. But what should have been a cry of pain emerged as a howling laugh. Rerem cleared his throat; there was the taste of blood in his mouth. He tried to push himself up, but his body was refusing to function.

He was almost at the end.

"Nevertheless," Vader said, his voice low, "you _will_ tell me where you sent those files!"

"Nope. Sorry." Rerem grinned. "I won't be sticking around long enough for you to pry that information out of me!"

"I have been waiting for a long time to capture a spy such as yourself!"

"Sorry, _my lord,_ you're going to have to wait a bit longer. You won't be making a hostage out of me. I'm already dying. You can thank one of your precious Imperial agents for that."

Rerem lay prone on the floor, his eyes looking up at the dark ceiling. Maybe death wouldn't be so bad after all. It wasn't like he wanted to go on living with a bloody hole in his back.

The insane laughter bubbled up again.

"Your informative mind is invaluable to the Empire," Vader said. "I will stop you."

If Rerem could have shaken his head at that moment, he would have. "No, you won't. I'm in control, not you. I might be dead, but there's one thing about it that makes it worthwhile for someone like me."

The Emperor's right-hand took one more step towards him. "And that is?"

"You won't be getting any information out of me," Rerem whispered. "If there's one little problem my team has been kind enough to give you over and over again, it's this one."

His voice was going. His vision blurred and his eyes closed. He took a breath. In and out. One more. In and out. His lips curled into a crooked smile. He thought of Nyixa and her resoluteness; of Nash and what he was willing to risk; of Koss and the rashness that had eventually killed him; of Seline and what she had cursed the entire team with. Their faces flashed before his eyes – all the good and the bad that came from working together mixed into one.

As he breathed his last, Rerem directed his final words to the man who was responsible for his death, contented with stealing the last laugh.

"Dead men tell no tales."

* * *

_**0 hours, 0 minutes. **_

_fin_

_

* * *

_

**Thank you so much, everyone, for reading! This story was very different from anything else that I've written and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if I was going to finish it. I hope you got some enjoyment out of it, as it was a blast working on. Thanks, again! **_  
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